Legend of a Cowgirl
by Shok Xone Studios
Summary: Seven years postBebop...Edward is all grown up, and she's on a mission of vengeance! But can a rogue hacker alone take down a ruthless murderer?
1. Killer Queen

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 1:   
_Killer Queen_**  


Earth, somewhere in the universe, 2078. 

The moon rocks orbiting the planet's atmosphere cast a herd of shadows across the desert landscape. There must have been quite a cluster of them over the continent today, because the shadows swam over the sands and dirt swam like a massive school of tiny fish. It was on a day like this that you're likely to fall victim to an unexpected rock shower. Strange thing is, it's days like this where people care the least. 

Despite the constant veils of shade, the temperature remained an uncomfortable high. If it weren't such a dumb statement, one might even say the tumbleweeds were sweating. 

On the side of a dusty cross-country road, a lone pickup truck sat, its back compartment filled to the brim with large, savory-looking watermelons. In front of the back bumper, a few tables were set up, all holding boxes that contained more of them. Behind one of the tables, underneath the shade of a big red umbrella planted firmly in the loose ground, was a lawn chair, and in that chair sat an old man; pudgy, balding, and barely awake if not completely unconscious. If the tumbleweeds were sweating, he was sweating even more. 

Not much in the way of business today. Hell, not much any day for that matter. Figured he might as well sleep the whole day off. 

He was so out of it, in fact, that he didn't notice the blaring hum of an aircraft landing nearby. He didn't even notice the cloud of dust that blew in his direction. 

Quiet approaching footsteps. A quick, smooth, energetic stride. 

A shadow passed over the old Hispanic's face. His only physical reaction was swatting a fly that made the poor choice of landing on his mustache. 

"How much?" a sweet feminine voice asked. 

"Thousand woolongs each, cash only, no I.O.U.'s," the tired old man replied. 

A hand reached out and slapped some paper money down on the table. The impact was enough to wake the old man up. The figure walked off to the side, while the man leaned forward to examine the amount being paid. His eyes popped halfway out of his skull when he saw how much they were worth. 

Three crisp, new bills, one thousand woolongs each. 

No one had ever paid that much at once before. Come to think of it, no had ever paid that much...at all. The old man was curious to know who had that much to spend on just a few watermelons. He looked over at where the well-to-do customer had walked, and only saw her backside. She selected the last of the three melons she purchased, picking only the ripest of the bunch. 

She plopped all three into a knapsack hanging over her shoulder, and she walked off toward her vehicle, the aircraft that landed a minute ago. A large white and silver apparatus, divided into three sections; a middle section housing a spherical cockpit and a funnel-shaped propulsion unit, and the two outer sections that obviously provided hovering and weapons capabilities. Looked military issue. The woman piloting it sure as hell didn't. 

"Gracias, amigo," she said as she hopped inside. 

In a whoosh of air and a roar of motors, off she went. 

********

Earth, somewhere in the universe, 2078. 

A lone tavern, a mile or two on the outskirts of town. Just as hot as anywhere else on the continent. Damn global warming. 

Inside, a few varied vagabonds wet their whistles, aptly away from the the simmering sunswelter. At the bar, a tall Caucasian male with spiky brown hair, dressed in lightweight black jeans, a white tanktop, and a windbreaker wrapped around his waist, took continuous sips from his refeshingly cold drink. At a table in the corner of the room, four other men, seemingly with nothing in common, enjoyed their drinks as well, engaging in indistinct chatter. All the while, the bartender had long taken the classic stance behind the counter, paying no attention to the activity of the room, but rather on the glass in his hand, which he was wiping clean with an old dust rag. Of course, aside from the man at the bar and the four at the table, there was no activity to moniter, so what better way to kill time at this point, one might ask. 

A calm silence, usual for this time of day. Felt good. 

It didn't last. 

Outside, an aircraft was landing. A loud WHOOSH! filled the room, and the western-style saloon doors blew back and forth. 

When the noise died down, there was silence once again, except for the opening and closing of a cockpit door. 

Quiet approaching footsteps. A quick, smooth, energetic stride. 

A soft creak echoed through the bar as the doors were pushed inward. 

All eyes turned to the entrance as an unexpected guest made her way inside. 

She stood about six inches shy of a full six feet, but what was under that height was certainly a sight to see. A slim, slender figure; a glorious vision wrapped in a shapely 36-24-36 package. With perfect skin sun-tanned to a rich orange/light brown, and topped off with a head of blazing red hair, this woman was a marvelously scultped specimen, blessed with an undiscountable, rugged beauty. 

Starting from the feet, she wore a pair of gray sweat socks, covered by a surprisingly clean set of white and blue sneakers; on dusty terrain like this, it was difficult to keep any article of clothing clean for extended periods of time, but this lovely newcomer obviously went to a decent effort to at least fake it. A pair of loose-fitting blue jeans accompanied her legs, with the right leg torn away just above the knee. Peeking out from the waistline of her low-cut pants, the outside edges of a black thong hugged her hips. 

Her upper body sported a lightweight shirt, bleached to an unconsistant gray color. The shirt, sleeves rolled, hung from her upper arms and shoulders, while the rest dropped behind her and calmly flapped in the breeze. The rest of her torso was bare, except for the black bikini top that hugged her chest, admirably perking her already ample assets therein. 

Then came her face, locked in an impassive stare, yet shouting for as much attention as the rest of her; exact symmetry in the shape of the head, full flesh-pink lips with only a subtle coating of gloss, and an almost unrealistically perfect pin of a nose. Her eyes were as yet invisible, as she wore over her head what looked like a pair of ski goggles, the super-shiny lenses colored bright green. On the right side of them, a small plug port extended, and an electrical wire jutted out and dropped downward, leading into the right side front pocket of her jeans. What its purpose was, who could tell? 

The only other article she had was a small black carrying case, the strap to which was slung over her shoulder. Like anyone gave a damn what was in it. 

Almost as quickly as she gained it, the attentions of the bar occupants turned back to what they were doing before. The four men at the table kept talking over their liquor, the one at the bar kept taking sips of his drink, and the barkeep kept polishing his dishware. The mystery woman strutted in the door, ignoring a snide remark from one of the drunkards over in the corner. Something about her "helluva fine ass"...she couldn't make out half of it, and from the sound of what she did hear, she was quite better off as such. 

She took a seat a couple barstools away from the only other attendant at the bar. The barkeep kept wiping the glass as he walked over to her. 

"What can I get ya, pretty lady?" he politely started. 

Through the green-lensed goggles, he could almost see a pair of eyes tilt upwards and focus on him. He couldn't see them very clearly, but he could already tell they were just as pretty as anything else she had on her. 

"Anything non-alcoholic," that sweet, calm voice replied. 

The bartender raised his eyebrows. In a place like this, he rarely got a request for something that wouldn't get you drunk. 

"I'll see what I got in the back," he said, as he put down the glass. 

"One other thing, barkeep," the mystery woman said. "You got an spare outlet?" 

She reached inside the carrying case and removed a small rectangular object. She unhooked a latch on the front of it, and it split in half along a hinge on the opposite side. She set it down upon the bar, and two more panels were opened up; one, a millimeter-thin clear plastic sheet, the other, a thicker panel, covered in buttons. A laptop computer. Looked high-tech too. 

The barkeep lifted his eyebrows again. "Uh, yeah...yeah, there's one right behind here." 

She pulled the electric cord from the bag, plugged one into the backside of the computer, and handed the other end to the bartender. 

"Low battery," she said, cracking a sweet-as-peaches smirk. "Sorry if it's any trouble." 

Now how in the cosmos could he possibly say no to that gorgeous creature? 

"No trouble at all, ma'am," the bartender said, taking the plug and inserting it into the outlet. "Lemme go get you that drink." 

He walked off and disappeared behind a door at the back wall. Things went silent again. 

The mystery woman turned on the laptop, and it booted up within seconds. She then took the electric cord from her goggles, found the plug on the end, and shoved it inside a port on the side of the keyboard. The lenses of the goggles suddenly lit up from the inside, like a special electronic interface had just been activated. Meanwhile, the laptop screen lit up and started scrolling through a perpetual list of green text on a black background. The mystery woman focused her attention on what her goggles were displaying, leaned forward against the bar, and casually rest her head atop her hands, balancing herself on her elbows. The keyboard, at least so far, remained untouched. 

The Caucasian man a few seats away discreetly watched her as she fiddled with her electronics. He kept a straight face all the while as if disinterested, but in reality couldn't help but wonder what a girl like this, driving a craft like the one she flew in on, was doing in a place like this, and equipped with technology that she was using right now. 

Eh...it didn't matter. He turned back to his drink and felt it was better to leave her alone. 

Too bad for him she felt otherwise. 

"Richard Montalban," she suddenly announced. 

Montalban spat out the liquid in his mouth and yelped as he heard his named called out. The four men at the table also heard the name, and were too interested in the new situation. 

"Wanted by Ganymede authorities for several counts of armed robbery, grand theft, vandalism, gang violence, and the hijacking of an Earth-bound commercial shuttle," she continued. Her head swiveled in his direction, and she smiled maliciously. "Ricky, you bad, bad boy, you...would you like to know how much you're worth?" 

Montalban gulped hard, and guzzled down the rest of his drink. 

"You, my friend, are worth a sweet seven million woolongs," she said. "Nine million if you're brought in with your four as-yet-unidentified accomplices." 

The silence was further broken by the simultaneous clicks of multiple guns cocking. Over at the corner of the room, the four drinking buddies, who up to now were minding their own business, had at least six guns out, all trained on the mystery woman. Montalban grinned evilly at this seemingly obvious turning of the tables. The woman didn't even flinch. 

"And it looks I've just identified them," she added. 

The bartender exited the back room with a bottle and tall glass in hand. 

"I found the perfect stuff for ya, ma'am," he said. "Little aged, but maybe that'll be a good thi--" 

He froze in terror the moment he saw the resulting standoff. 

"Well, go on," Montalban taunted. "Poor the lady a drink." 

The nervous old man slowly unscrewed the bottlecap, set the glass on the bar, dropped in some ice cubes, and tilted the neck of the bottle toward the rim of the cup. A thin, clear liquid flooded forth. 

"Hey, barkeep," the woman said. "Whatever's about to happen in the next three seconds, keep pouring that drink." 

As she spoke, the lines of code on the computer screen stopped scrolling, and a blinking cursor appeared at the bottom of the page, right next to the words "PRESS ENTER TO BEGIN". As she finished her sentence, she tactfully turned the laptop toward Montalban and his four-man crew. 

Upon completion of her words, her hand skimmed over to the side of the keyboard and pressed down the ENTER button. 

Within the first second, the screen turned bright white, and an ear-piercing screeching sound shot forth from the entrie device. Montalban and his crew dropped their weapons and hollered in agony, pressing their hands hard against either side of their heads. Before the end of that first second, the mystery woman leaped out of her seat and jumped clear across the room and back again. 

At the very end of the third second, the computer screen turned black, the screeching stopped, and a block of text appeared, reading, "PROGRAM COMPLETE". A large yellow smiley face, eyes shut and teeth bared, popped up underneath it, and a cackling, cartoonish laughter echoed from the speakers. Also by the end of the third second, each member of the four-man crew was left lying face-down upon the floor, while Montalban lay on his back, half-conscious. The mystery woman was mounted atop him, her right knee pressed uncomfortably against his Adam's apple. Furthermore, there was now a gun in her hands, the muzzle of which was shoved up the floored man's left nostril. 

The last few drops of liquid fell from the bottle and splashed into the glass. Frozen with shock, the barkeep did not put it down. 

Confident her target had no intentions of moving, the mystery woman rose to her feet, holstered her gun in her left pocket, stepped over the body, and walked back to the bar. Taking a seat right in front of the still-frozen bartender, she pried the glass from his grip, threw her head back, and downed the entire drink in one swift take. A few streams of liquid sloppily dripped down each side of her chin, but she made no bones about it. 

"AHHHHH!" 

After her exhalation of approval, she set the glass down upon the bar and slid it off to the side. It glided across the counter until it hit a speedbump-like block, where it flipped into the air and landed perfectly in the dirty dish tray. 

Finally, the woman tilted her head down and looked at the bartender again. She smiled sweetly at him, and pulled her goggles up over her forehead, revealing her eyes for the first time; hypnotic, strangely childlike, but anyways an absolutely luscious golden hazelnut color. They were like a pair of twin Autumn sunsets, locked safely inside her eye sockets. 

"Thanks," she said. "I needed that." 

********

Ganymede, several days later. 

A long, large cruiser floated in the harbor. It's hull was a rusty brown, indicating a very grizzled vessel. A secondhand space trawler, it looked like, but obviously rebuilt and remodeled to facilitate space travel. The front half was a boat-shaped surface, the deck of which served as both a runway and landing strip for aircrafts stored inside the built-in hangar. The aft of the ship turned into a series of rectanglular blocks; the two on the outside were obviously for propulsion, and whatever was in between could either be living quarters or part of the engine. A spinning ring apparatus was placed toward the rear end, a device for simulating gravity while in space. On the starboard side, painted in big black letters, was a single word: _BEBOP._

It had been there for about a week, but certainly not by any choice of the pilot. It was about every few hours you'd hear a deep voice scream something inflammatory towards his ship, which it seems was in less than working condition. You'd hear some cursing, some indistinct shouting, and once in a while, you'd even see a broken part getting tossed into the sea. 

Today, the owner was found on top of the rear of the vessel, buried from the waist up in an open panel. His lower half, feet covered in black leather boots and metal armor, shifted and kicked as he toiled furiously on the machinery inside. 

"Dammit!" he screamed. "Damn damn dammit!" 

He pulled himself out of the hole was digging, and scratched his head in confusion. 

He was an aged man himself, mid-40s at least, but since when can you tell only by looking? His big bald head, fronted with a stern, severely-featured, yet pacifist face, was beaded with sweat, and his beard, lining his jawline and chin, was a little more ragged than usual. His right eye was covered with a nasty-looking vertical scar, and a small metal plate was nailed to his skin along the lower rim of his eye socket. 

Dressed in a faded dark blue mechanic's suit, he had unzipped the top half and just let it hang off him, while a sweat-stained white tanktop covered his very fit upper body. He reached up with his left arm - an appendage of massive cybernetic structure - and wiped the sweat off his forehead. 

"I just don't get it," he said, in a voice as deep as the Grand Canyon and as grating as gravel. "All these years, you never gave me THIS much trouble before! What's wrong with you, old girl!?" 

He stroked his chin a few seconds, then suddenly felt struck by inspiration. 

"Wait a minute..." 

He dived right back inside the panel, did some digging, and then for the first time, a positive shout came forth. 

"Ah-HAH!" he blasted, pulling himself out again. 

When he sat up, he had in his hand a small pink object. It was a squishy little thing that molded into the shape of his grip, but otherwise had been cast into a bird-like shape, complete with two licorice-black beads that perhaps represented eyes. Obviously something that did not belong in the _ Bebop_'s engine. 

"So you're the one causing all those short-circuits!" he triumphantly declared. He then looked a little shocked. "I'll be god damned. How in the hell did a Piyoko get in there!?" 

Shrugging it off, he reached over to the panel and pulled it shut. As he did, something else that didn't belong appeared before him; cleverly hidden behind the open door, and only now revealed, was Earth's mystery woman, lying across the hull in a supermodel pose. An open bottle of vodka rest in her hand. 

"Hey, cowboy," she said. 

Jet Black almost jumped out of his skin when he saw her. "What in blazes--!?" 

"I hope you don't mind, I helped myself to your liquor cabinet," the woman continued. "Got some nice vintages in there. It's a wonder you were able to keep 'em out of reach from Spike and Faye for so long." 

Catching his breath, Jet's face scrunched into a twisted, enraged grimace. 

"Who the hell are you!?" he screamed. "And what are you--?" 

He cut himself off when he happened to glace at her left arm, the shoulder of which was not covered by the gray shirt she wore. He caught sight of a circular tattoo, a yellow shape outlined in a thick black border. Inside was a cartoon smiley face; eyes squeezed shut, and a wide, teeth-baring grin that took up the entire lower half of the head. Underneath the eyes were a pair of blushing pink spots. 

Jet took a few seconds to examine the artwork, and was left with that wide-eyed, mouth-open stare. He knew that symbol. 

He looked upward and got a good, long look at the woman's face, the green-lensed goggles sitting over her forehead, and the flaming red hair topping her scalp. She smiled sweetly and batted her lashes, drawing attention to her bright, golden eyes. 

"Oh..........my..........god..." 

Eyeing her from head to toe, the dawning realization of this woman's identity hit him like a steel bat to the back of his cranium. 

"Edward...Wong...Hau...Pepelu...Tivrusky...the fourth!?!" 

"Gotta give credit where it's due," Edward said brightly. "You're the first guy in a long time to get it right the first try." 

"There are just some names you never forget," Jet replied. 

There came a odd period of silence between the two of them. Then, Edward grinned from ear to ear, hopped to her feet, and as they both exploded into joyous laughter, she ran to Jet and jumped at him. The larger man easily caught the petite one, and he spun her around and around as they wrapped their arms around one another. Much like a father and his child. 

********

Ganymede was especially warm that day, so there was no other choice but to move the reunions indoors. Having been out in the heat for the last several hours, Jet was more than willing to put the _Bebop_ 's repairs on hold for some time out of the sun. Ed on the other hand, having lived most of her life in much worse conditions, remained indifferent. 

"You sure know how to bring a shock to an old man's system," said Jet. "Think I lost about ten years when you dropped in just now." 

"I've cost a few guys plenty more years than that," Ed replied. 

"I'd believe it," Jet agreed, tipping the vodka bottle and filling both glasses on the table. "You never were much in the way of subtlety." 

He put down the bottle and dropped some ice into each cup. When they finished fizzing and popping, Jet separated the glasses and lightly pushed one across the coffee table towards Edward's feet, which were propped up on the side opposite Jet, while Ed herself sat back against the sofa. The liquid-filled glass was about to coast clear off the egde of the table, but Ed moved her right foot and caught the glass right on the top of her toe. Carefully balancing the drink on her shoe, she crossed her right leg over her left and literally delivered the glass into her awaiting left hand. Not a single drop was wasted. 

Jet watched in amazement at Edward's leggy precision, then smiled and rasied his own glass in a toast. 

"But then again..." he said, "...we wouldn't want it any other way." 

With a nod and a simper, Ed returned the gesture, and the two took concurrent sips. 

Edward set her glass down on the floor, then switched positions, stretching out on the full length of the sofa, with her arms crossed and set as a pillow between the cushion and her head. Jet meanwhile kept his own drink in his hands, and he stared at Edward as if expecting her to be first to resume the conversation. 

"Well?" he finally asked. 

Ed turned her head, looking a bit confused. 

"Well what?" 

"'Well what?'" Jet repeated. "Well what happened to you all those years ago? One day, you just up and skidaddle, don't hear a word from ya, then seven years later you magically pop up on my doorstep. That by itself is an unexpected surprise...let alone in this capacity..." 

He entertained himself with another full body examination of the built young woman. 

"After all," he added, "I never once figured you'd turn into such a voluptuous little thing." 

Ed blushed and grimaced, feeling embarrassed, a tad insulted, and yet at the same time quite flattered. Suck it up, she told herself, putting on her best "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that" face. 

"Better watch who you're hitting on, Baldo," she quipped. 

"Hey don't get me wrong kid," Jet defended. "You're sweet on an old man's eyes, all right, but I like 'em a little closer to my own age." 

Edward arched a brow and turned her head back towards the ceiling. Jet's smile faded, annoyed that his initial query had still received no answer. 

"So are you gonna tell me what went on or what?" he impatiently probed. 

"Is it really that important to you?" 

"It is if you heard the rumors I did," Jet answered. "Word can spread like fire on gasoline in a place like this, and stuff like what I've been hearing can catch a guy's attention pretty quick." 

"What kind of 'stuff' exactly?" asked Ed. 

"Well for one thing, if any of it is true, I might finally find out what the hell happened to my damn dog!" 

Ed snickered. "Heh...I guess the least I could have done was let you know Ein was all right." 

"And if any more of those rumors are true," he extended, "then it would seem Ein isn't the only _Bebop_ alumnus you've been hangin' around with." 

Ed sighed deeply and closed her eyes. 

"Yeah...yeah, that's right," she said. 

"For a while they were calling you two 'The Valentine Sisters'," Jet explained. "The notorious bounty huntress Faye Valentine, pretty as pink and sharp as a switchblade, and her mysterious web-based partner, the elusive hacker extraordinaire known only as 'Radical Edward'. Whole mess of stories have been traveling throughout the solar system about your little escapades. One bounty after another, after another, after another...Heard folks on Earth are afraid to break the law 'cause they're chicken shit scared the Valentines will come for them. Experts say you must have raked in a good hundred fifty million woolongs or so." 

"It really isn't quite that much after taxes," Edward joked. 

"Whatever the case, it sounds to me like you two sure had some thing goin' on," Jet complemented. "I'd be interested to know how it all got started." 

Ed smiled amusedly. "It's kind of a long story." 

"Unless I haven't got long enough to live to hear the whole thing, I think I can spare the time," Jet asnwered. 

Edward let herself sink a little further into the sofa, as she let her memory take a few steps back. 

"After Ein and I left _Bebop_, we took a road trip with my dad," she started. "Joined the business he was in...mapmaking, I mean. Say what you will about it, but his reasoning sure did make a good bit of sense; in an ever-changing planet like Earth, you better know damn sure where and when your feet are hittin' the ground. And just like some folks can't program the buttons on their radios without an instruction booklet, some others can't go nowhere till they see a map first. All was going pretty well; I called up the weather reports over the web, and when we got the first sign of the next big hole, we'd pack up our stuff, hop on board the truck and head out for the impact zone. We got really good at it over the months, and we were making some good money too...until an unscheduled rock shower ended the family business, if you get my drift." 

Jet nodded. "Sorry to hear about that." 

"Hey, like Spike always said, 'Whatever happens, happens'," said Edward. "I tried for a couple weeks to get back in the game, but after Dad was killed, some big corporation stole his idea and started a multi-million woolong industry off of it. Wouldn't give up one cent for compensation or royalties either." She smiled. "So I uploaded a nasty little MPU virus into their database before I left their offices." 

Jet couldn't help but chuckle. 

"Anyway..." she continued, her tone getting a little more serious, "Ein and I spent about six months just wandering the globe. Did a few odd jobs, even caught a measily 60k bounty. Kept us fed for a while, but let's face it; we were just about running on empty. Then we happened inside this little seaside diner off the coast of Taiwan. Just went in for some lunch, but who else did we run into but good ol' Faye-Faye. 

"Seems she hadn't had the best of luck herself since she took off. Can't blame her for being down; her memories were swiss cheese at best, and everything she could remember about her past was either destroyed, dead, or just plain missing. Said she'd been on a three-week bender when I caught up with her. Funny thing is...when were sitting at our table, shootin' the breeze...I dunno, it was almost like none of it even mattered. Once she saw my face again, there was just this new 'brightness' about her...something I can't remember hearing or seeing in her before then. Faye never really was that pleasant an individual to be around, so it felt pretty reassuring to see that spark of happiness in her eyes when she spoke. 

"So then I was just about to head off on my own again, then suddenly Faye stops me and makes the craziest proposal - she wanted me to come along with her, just us girls. Said it was a crazy world out there, and nobody should have to brave it alone like the two of us were for the last year. She'd show me the ropes, help me become a real independent adult, and in return maybe I could show her a thing about surfing a web proxy...but most importantly, we'd just have each other to look after; to keep each other company. And that's probably what appealed to me the most. I'd never tell anyone else this, but back on _Bebop_ , I looked up to Faye, probably a lot more than I should have." 

Edward stopped and laughed at her next thought. "I'll never forget the last thing she said before I accepted - 'I may not be as good a traveling companion as a superintelligent Welsh Corgi, but I'll sure as hell try my best.' That, my friend, truly was an offer I couldn't refuse." 

Jet took a drink and smiled at the visualization of the event she described. "I suppose so." 

"And that's pretty much how it started," she finished. "A amnesiac bounty hunter, a fifteen-year-old hacker, and a big brain data dog, takin' down the roughest and the toughest the planet had to offer. Doesn't quite scream 'Justice League of America', but everything you heard about us is true; whatever the job, we got it done." 

"That reminds me..." Jet piped up. "Where exactly is Ein anyway?" 

"Ein is unfortunately no longer with us," Ed answered bittersweetly. "Happened a couple months ago; I was on the trail of this guy I'd been looking for, and my newest lead landed me in this bar over on Venus, I was just asking some questions and taking some notes. One guy appearantly didn't like the questions I was asking and tried to ventilate my backside with a 9mm. And right before he pulled the trigger, Ein, bless his little heart...jumped in front of the gun and took the shot for me." 

Jet groaned. "Leave it to that damn dog to die a nobler death than any human I know." 

"On the bright side, the guy who attacked me had a 100k reward on him," Ed inserted. "So it's almost like the furry little bugger was just helping out on one last bust." 

As she spoke, she again crossed her right over her leg. Distracted by the moving body part, Jet watched her change positions, and this time caught sight of another tattoo; three of them in fact, lined up one on top of another on the inside of her lower leg, just above the rim of her sock. The uppermost one was solid blue, shaped like an airplane of some sort; the second was a long, thin gray nail, driven right into the center of the third tattoo, a bright red heart. 

"And what are those supposed to represent?" asked Jet. 

Without even looking, Ed immediately knew what he was talking about. 

"The three most important influences in my life," she answered. "And the three most important people I've had the pleasure of knowing." 

Jet smiled. "Oh, I get it...a Jet...a Spike...and a Valentine." 

Edward opened an eye and gave him a sly little smirk. "I've got one of Ein too, but only a select few people know where it is." 

"So you thought of us hard luck bounty hunters as your most important influences, huh?" he queried. "How so?" 

"I've tried to model my whole way of life after the three of you," Edward explained. "The three of you had almost nothing in common, but you all seemed to complement each other perfectly. You just each had something that I always wanted to aspire to, something I figured I needed if I was going to make it big, or even make it at all. Not to fuel your ego or anything, but I wanted to develop myself having Jet Black's brains, Spike Spiegel's attitude, and Faye Valentine's tenacity." 

Jet looked a little shocked at this revelation. "That a fact?" 

"Remeber that time we snuck into that hosptial to find the real Dr. Londes?" she asked. "You know, the SCRATCH dude? I was posing as your daughter. I even wore that stupid pink dress, just 'cause I knew if I followed your plan exactly, then we'd succeed no problem. Again, not to fuel your ego...but when I was calling you 'Papa'...even if it was just an act...It just...it just sorta felt right." 

Jet said nothing; only blinked once in partial disbelief. 

"And besides, we had to get Faye out of there pronto," she comically added, "Or she'd end up like some swooky brain-eating zombie. And that'd only make her that much more unpleasant to be around, now wouldn't it?" 

"Speaking of which, how is ol' Faye-Faye doing?" Jet asked. 

Edward closed her eyes again, and her voice dropped into a very deeply serious tone as she answered: 

"She's.................retired." 

Jet raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Retired?" 

"Retired." 

"Retired?" 

"Retired." 

"I find that a little hard to believe," said Jet. 

"Well believe it," Edward replied. "Faye is...retired." 

"After only five years?" he pushed. "I'm no economics wizard, but I don't think a hundred fifty million woolongs is enough to live off of for the rest of your life...especially if you're Faye's age." 

"She was at least seventy-five, Jet." 

Jet made no hesitation in catching that. 

"Whad'ya mean 'was'!?" he demanded. 

D'oh! 

Edward sighed again. 

"I'll be honest, Jet," she said sadly. "As much as I'd like this visit to be nothing more than a social call, I did come here for a reason. I need your help." 

Jet sat back and crossed his arms. "What kind of help?" 

"There's a bounty I'm after. Tough one too. Got a hundred million woolong reward on his head. I've been after him for a year now, and I thought I had a few good leads, but so far all of them turned into dead ends." 

"I've sorta been backing off from the bounty hunting business myself," Jet said. "What makes you think I have anything on the guy you're looking for?" 

"I hacked into _Bebop_'s computer; that's how I knew you'd be here," Edward confessed. "I happened upon your to-do list, and saw this guy's picture under 'Priorities'. I'd have just gone and hacked my way in a little further to get your files on him, but given our history together, I figured it best I at least get your permission." 

"Okay..." said Jet, feeling a bit betrayed. "So who's the guy you're after?" 

Ed at first did not reply. 

"I can't get you the files if I don't know his name, Edward." 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reluctantly said the name: 

"Estevez...Erik Estevez." 

Jet's eyes almost exploded from his head. 

"You're after Double-E!?!" he shouted. "Woman, are you out of your damn mind!?" 

"I assure you, Jet, I am very much within my sanity," Edward stoicly replied. "Erik Estevez is the man I'm looking for." 

"Ed, do you even know what this guy's wanted for!?" Jet asked. "Numerous counts of violence, mass property damage, reckless endangerment, drug and weapons trafficking, attempted assassination of the head of ISSP, not to mention at least fifteen counts of manslaughter and first degree murder, and the cherry on top of this bloody sundae, seventeen counts of industrial sabotage...I don't know if it's occurred to you, but I'd say that hundred million on his head is a little friggin' modest!" 

"I'm well aware of his charges," said Ed. "Erik Estevez is the man I'm looking for." 

"Do you wanna know why Double-E is on my to-do list? Why he'll still be there a year from now? Because Erik Estevez is the kind of guy even I won't go after! Yeah, the amount of money sure sounds nice, but I'd much prefer being alive long enough to enjoy it!" 

"Spare me, old man," Edward said darkly. "Just get me the files." 

Jet stared in disbelief at her sudden turn of disrespect. He narrowed his gaze and stared a few seconds more, then reached over to the side of the table and pulled his computer moniter to the center. He flipped up the screen, which instantly turned on and displayed the _ Bebop_ computer's desktop. Jet started tapping on the keyboard, looking through a specific series of folders for just the right file. Edward could see the activity on the opposite, and she brightened when she saw the very same folder she had stumbled upon before: Priorities. 

Then, for some inexplicable reason, Jet stopped. He looked ready to enter the final key combinations to access the file on Erik Estevez, but then his hands relaxed, and he pulled them away from the keyboard. 

Edward did not like this at all. "Why are you stopping?" 

"Why are you after Estevez?" he demanded. 

"Do not test me, Jet," she said, sounding darker than ever. 

"You want my files, you tell me why you want Estevez," Jet negotiated. 

"I don't have time for this!" Edward snapped, as she swung her feet off the couch and sat forward. She grabbed the computer terminal and spun it around so that she faced the keyboard. She was about to start typing, when... 

"It needs my password to get inside," Jet announced. "And as good as you are, Edward, I don't think even you could guess it, not in a million years." 

"Fine, I'll just hack my way in, like I did before," she challenged. 

"Go right ahead!" Jet challenged back. 

Edward's fingers were just about to hit the keyboard, but then she too stopped right where she was. She wanted to. She wanted to break in and get the files so badly, but something was holding her back. Finally, she just pushed the terminal back towards Jet. 

"Enter the password," she ordered. 

"Not until you tell me why." 

"Enter the password, Jet!" she repeated, her voice getting harsher and harsher. 

"Make me, little girl." 

In an instant and disturbing response to the man's requisition, Edward's hand whipped inside her shirt, and in a split-second, Jet Black was looking down the barrel of a gun. Edward held it straight out, aiming right between the Black Dog's eyes. 

"I won't ask again, old man!" she yelled. 

"You can point all the guns you want!" he boomed back at her. "You can threaten me, you can call me names, you can go ahead and pull that trigger if it makes you feel like a big girl! Bottom line, my hands are going nowhere near that keyboard until you give me an explanation! Now can you dig that!?" 

She glared at him through only a slit in her eyelids. Ever so slightly, her arm started to tremble. 

"Ed, I'm only asking because I'm concerned," he calmly said. 

Edward sighed, dropped her arm, and lowered her head in shame, shutting her eyes so she couldn't see Jet's disappointed look. 

"I know..." she half-sobbed. "I know." 

"Now then, let's try this again," Jet said. "Why are you after Erik Estevez?" 

Ed's face began to scrunch as she bared her teeth and she squeezed her eyes shut harder and harder. Her breathing became deep and heavy, and her fists tightened to the point that her nails might have drawn blood. She slowly picked her head up, and she looked Jet dead in the eyes, staring with a face that gave a very physical meaning to that old phrase comparing the fury of hell to a woman's scorn. 

Her answer: 

"Because he's the bastard who murdered Faye Valentine."   
  


**_  
  
_**

**_GUARANTEED TO BLOW YOUR MIND..._**


	2. Enter Sandman

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 2:**  
**_Enter Sandman_**  


Jet called up the files without another objection. 

Carrying a pocket-sized CD with the newly-acquired information, Edward strolled out the open hangar doors and onto the landing platform, where the broken-in but still very operational RedTail was waiting. 

Jet had been so busy with the _Bebop _before that he hadn't even noticed it landing on the runway before Ed made her heart-stopping entrance. Even if he had, however, he might not have recognized it right away; the cockpit had been expanded into a two-seater, the miniguns on each sidearm had obviously received an expensive-looking upgrade, as had the crab-like grappling extensions they were attached to. Most noticeably, however, installed on either side of the cockpit, was the addition of a pair of long-range plasma cannons, perfect for disabling larger opponents, or just plain obliterating smaller ones. Some slight wear and tear on the machinery indicated both possibilities had come true from time to time. 

"She's lookin' good for her age," Jet commented, attempting to break the solemn mood. 

"I keep her in the best shape that I can," Edward replied. "After all, she's all I've got left of Faye now." She tugged at her collar. "Well, aside from this shirt, anyway. It was hers too...y'know, that one she was always wearing with the corners tied together." 

With a perplexed eye, Jet took a moment to examine the gray clothing. "I coulda sworn that thing was red." 

Ed grinned sheepishly. "Heh...uhh...bleaching mishap." 

They let the humor run its short course, then Edward started walking towards RedTail again. As she was about to unlock the hatch on the cockpit, Jet remembered something and started frantically fishing through his pocket. 

"Hey, Ed, wait up!" he called. "There's something I want you to have." 

Edward stopped and turned, just as Jet pulled a fist-sized brown object out of his suit and tossed it to her. She caught it and took a look at the device - a small two-way radio, one that could easily be concealed in a convenient hiding place. 

"It's a direct line to _Bebop_," Jet explained. "If you ever need anything...anything at all...I'll always keep a radio tuned to its frequency. Just call me your permanent backup." 

She further examined the device, flipping up the front panel to reveal the on/off switch, volume controls, and tuning dials. 

"It's the same one Spike carried," he added. 

She closed it up and slipped it into her back pocket, while she handed a slight beam of gratitude to the old man. 

"Thanks, Black Dog," she said. "I don't plan on using it, but I'll keep it anyway." 

With that, she opened the hatch, grabbed onto the bottom rim of the opening, and acrobatically pulled herself upward. 

"Will you at least tell me where she's buried?" Jet asked. 

Edward stopped, as she balanced herself perfectly on the edge, her body straight as an arrow. She contemplated Jet's request carefully before answering. 

"Some other time." 

She lifted her lower body up and over her head and somersaulted right into the driver's seat. She closed the hatch, fastened the seat belt, and turned the ignition key. The engine roared to a start, then quickly died down into a loud electric hum. 

Jet suddenly ran down the platform and stood next to RedTail's cockpit, waving his arms to try and get Edward's attention. She finally saw him and postponed her takeoff procedures, opening up the door so she could hear what Jet had to say. 

"What!?" she called out. 

"Just one more thing!" he yelled back at her, making certain she heard him over the engine. "I want you promise me something! Promise me you'll take care of yourself out there! I don't wanna be watchin' the news tomorrow and see your obituary, ya hear me!?" He relaxed, closed his eyes, lowered his head a little, and exhaled deeply. He opened his eyes and looked deep into Edward's. "I ain't old enough to be called an old man yet, kid...but I am gettin' damn tired of burying my friends." 

She let his words sink in a few seconds. She smiled brightly at him and held out a thumbs-up. 

"Relax," she assured him. "Edward's got this one under control!" 

She reached over and stuck her hands inside a knapsack on the seat next to her, and she pulled out a large green sphere. Tossing it like a basketball, she hurled it out the door, handing it straight to Jet. A surprised Jet opened his arms and caught a watermelon. A little warm from its storage, but still looking quite fresh. 

Before anything else either verbal or material could be exchanged, Edward closed the hatch and RedTail took off with a grand WHOOSH! It sailed off the platform and soared through the air, eventually becoming as indistinct as one of a flock of birds, and finally disappearing between the Ganymede skyscrapers. Jet watched her flight for as long as he could still see her. 

"God speed, Radical Edward..." he said. 

********

Edward popped the disc into MPU's drive and allowed a few seconds for it to load up. She hit a few buttons and activated a transparent holographic computer screen, one readily readable even while piloting RedTail. A desktop opened up, and the contents of the disc automatically displayed themselves, divided into four categories - photos, background info, charges, and leads. 

"What would you like to view first, Ed?" a male computer voice inquired. 

"Give me background info first," she replied. 

A cursor appeared and activated the appropriate file through a word processing program. A second later, a read-only document appeared before her. She quickly skimmed its contents, taking in only that of interest or of major importance: 

Name: ERIK ESTEVEZ aka "DOUBLE-E" 

Birth date: 10-28-2053   
Place of birth: UNKNOWN - supposedly North Carolina 

Height: 6' 0"   
Weight: 245 lbs 

Hair: Blond - known to be dyed different colors   
Eyes: Blue/gray 

Father: UNKNOWN   
Mother: JESSICA JADE ESTEVEZ aka "DOUBLE-J" - deceased 

Other details she bothered to look over... 

KNOWN CONNECTIONS WITH RED DRAGON SYNDICATE. OPERATIVE BETWEEN 2074 AND 2077. CURRENT STATUS AS OPERATIVE UNKNOWN. BELIEVED TO HAVE SEVERED TIES WITH SYNDICATE IN JULY 2077, BUT STILL PERFORMS SIMILAR WORK - ASSASSINATION, SABOTAGE, ETC. 

"Gimme the list of charges," Edward ordered. 

MPU closed the current document and opened the next. An entire laundry list of felonies started scrolling down the page. 

"First charge," the computer narrated, "committed November 3, 2065, the supposed accidental death of Jonathan Price, an 18-year-old next door neighbor. Estevez claimed Price attacked first, and the jury decided in his favor, calling the act self-defense. Second charge, committed January 11, 2066, the intentional malicious injury of--" 

"Filter out anything he did before joining the Syndicate in 2074," Ed commanded. 

The list quickly shot downwards, displaying a new list of charges written in red text. 

"Committed March 15, 2074," MPU continued, "the partial destruction of an electric power plant on Europa, apparently to halt the development of new circuitry that would enable power to become cheaper and more efficiently generated. Committed June 6, 2074, the total destruction of Venus City's power plant, for similar motives as on Europa. Committed--" 

"Skip to the most recent stuff, MPU," she interrupted. 

"How recent?" the computer asked. 

"Within the last 13 months," Ed clarified. 

The list again jumped forward, to just about the end of the document. 

"Committed August 19, 2077, the destruction of World Energy's corporate office in New Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Motive was to force WE to sever business relations with Martian Power Incorporated. Supposedly Estevez's last act of industrial sabotage before severing ties with the Syndicate." 

Edward glared at the lines of text the computer just read. 

"Yeah..." she hissed. "That's the one." 

"Pardon me?" MPU asked.   
  
"Nothing," she replied. "Switch to Photos." 

MPU did exactly as asked, closing the charges list and opening up the folder labeled "Photos". A Photoshop icon represented the six files within the folder. The cursor appeared again, highlighted all six documents, and opened them all simultaneously. A few seconds later, the six photos appeared on the desktop. 

It was no wonder Estevez was so hard to find; the pictures collected here indicated he was quite good at keeping himself hidden. Each picture had him from a different angle, and in each one it seemed like Estevez noticed the cameraman and conveniently shifted to the side to avoid getting a clear shot taken of him. All the photos featured Estevez disguised by a certain degree of motion blur. 

But Edward saw through it...she would recognize that hideous visage anywhere. 

What details could be acquired from the photos perfectly matched the information in his profile, as well as what Edward herself know about the man; about six feet or so, looking to be around 250 pounds, very muscular in build, and with long hair that, while in each photo was died a different or multiple colors, was obviously blond. His face was triangular and gaunt, and his eyes, set deep inside his face, were dramatically darkened by the available light in a way that seemed nightmarish in every conceivable way. He was a man with nearly perfect features...nearly in that a thin but very noticeable scar ran along the edge of his jawbone. Other than that, he looked every bit like God's gift to women. If only God had known better. 

"If only..." she whispered. 

"I'm sorry?" said MPU. 

"Nothing!" Edward snapped. "Open up the one on Leads..." 

********

Somewhere in the universe... 

"How the hell long have we been waiting here?" asked Dominguez impatiently. 

"Not long enough," Bridges replied. "I ain't movin' one inch till we see 'im." 

"Come on, man, we've been here for hours!" Dominguez whined. "Betcha anything he ain't even in there." 

"He's in there!" Bridges barked. 

"What if he isn't?" 

"He is." 

"That doesn't answer my question, man." 

"It's a dumb question to begin with, because he's in there!" 

"Get real, bro!" the short, tan-skinned, balding man argued. "What could he be doing in there that takes this long?" 

"A guy with a hundred million woolong reward on his head?" the tall, dark-blond-haired man answered. "Anything he damn well pleases. And that's exactly the problem. He thinks he can do whatever he wants, and that's why he has that bounty on him. It doesn't put any fear in his heart like it should. All it does it strengthen the belief that he can do whatever. Well you and I, my friend, are here to correct him." 

While Bridges set up the sniper rifle on the edge of the roof, Dominguez took the binoculars away from his eyes and rubbed his sore eyelids. 

"Don't take your eyes off that door, stupid!" Bridges hollered. "He could come out of there at any time!" 

"He'd have to be in there first to be able to come out..." Dominguez mumbled as he looked through the lenses again. 

"Do not start with me, Joe!" Bridges growled. "If we don't get this guy now, we may never! You wanna see your half of that hundred million slip away from you!? Almost everyone who's after this guy is more interested in killing him than grabbin' the bounty! That's what sets us apart from all the others, bubba. We're driven by pure ambition and insatiable greed!" 

"Try not to sound so pessimistic," said Dominguez sarcastically. 

The door to the building they were watching suddenly swung open, and someone stepped outside. 

"Whoa, hold everything, Nash-man, I think you were right!" Dominguez exclaimed. "I think that's him now!" 

Bridges grabbed the binoculars and took a gander at the man exiting the building. 

About six feet tall, maybe a little taller, very well built, as displayed by the sleeveless gray shirt he wore, while he carried his leather jacket over his shoulder. A long snake-like tattoo encircled his entire left arm, and a pair of fingerless leather gloves covered his hands. He also wore a pair of baggy blue jeans, and large black boots. Suspended from his scalp were long strands of blond hair that drooped beneath his shoulders; the left side of his head was left its natural color, while the other was died in multiple sections of red. His face, triangular and gaunt, was perfectly featured, except for the thin scar running along his jawbone. 

"That's him all right," Bridges said with a grin. 

He tossed the binoculars to Dominguez and turned to the sniper rifle. He leaned down behind it and looked through the targeting scope, which gave him a nice close-up view of the man he was tracking, and a crosshair indicating just about where the bullet would land. The man walked along, seemingly unaware of his watchers, while Bridges kept the gun moving so to obtain a perfect shot. There was, however, some varied debris strewn about the alley, some of which could possibly block the shot, so Bridges would wait until the target moved into the clearing just up ahead. 

"Just one shot, asshole," he said. "Just one shot to knock ya out, and that hundred million is ours." 

The target stepped into the clearing. Bridges' shot was more than ideal now. 

He quickly squeezed the trigger... 

...Then shot backwards in disbelief as the target suddenly bolted out of the path of the bullet and disappeared from sight completely. 

"What the hell!?" he cursed. "Where'd he go!?" 

"I dunno, man!" Dominguez responded, frantically searching the area with the binoculars. "I didn't even see what direction he went in!" 

"How did he know!?" Bridges demanded. "Son of a bitch, how could he possibly have dodged it!?" 

"Wait, I see him!" Dominguez cried. 

Just a quick flash of human motion; a just a gray and blue blur moving past a gap between two alleyways. 

"Let's go, we can still catch up to him!" Bridges ordered. "That alley leads to a dead end, I'm sure of it!" 

Grabbing a pair of guns and handing one to his partner, Bridges sprinted for the fire escape and slid down the ladder. Dominguez followed as fast as he could, but Bridges lead the way by a huge margin as he ran around the building and down the alley Dominguez had spotted the target in. Around one corner, past another, Bridges knew exactly where he was going; he spent half an hour just memorizing this section of town so that wherever his target was headed, Bridges would ensure he had no way out of there. 

He turned the final corner... 

And there was the target at the back of the dead end, leaning casually against the wall, with his jacket hung upon a pipe sticking out of the graffiti-enveloped brick wall. As Bridges slowly closed in, gun aimed right at the target, the target was just finishing lighting up a cigarette with a small, shiny silver lighter. 

Dominguez finally caught up and aimed his gun in the same direction as Bridges'. 

"Somethin' I can do for you fellas?" the target asked. Clearly a southern-influenced, originating somewhere in the Carolinas perhaps. 

"Yeah..." Bridges answered. "You can put your hands on your head and not make any sudden movements." 

"Now why on earth would I wanna do that, bud?" the target inquired. "'Cause you got those pea shooters pointin' at my chest? I know better'n you do you're not gonna pull that trigger if you give a shit about that hundred mill." 

"Maybe, man, but these 'pea shooters' say loud and clear you're goin' nowhere!" Dominguez proclaimed. "Now why don't you be a good boy and do what the man told you?" 

Erik Estevez chuckled between puffs of his cigarette. 

"I got a better idea...How 'bout I don't and instead I break his neck right before I give your vocal chords a breath of fresh air?" 

He moved his thumb over the side of his lighter and pressed a small button, and a two-inch-long switchblade popped out the top. Estevez hurled the lighter at the small man, landing the blade right in his throat! Dominguez instantly fell, while Bridges, in shock of his partner's predicament, lost control and opened fire. 

Estevez weaved in between the shots and went straight at Bridges, first knocking the gun from his hand with a quick boot, then swinging the other foot right into the man's groin. He grabbed Bridges by the shirt and whipped him around, sending him stumbling toward the wall. As he faced forward again, Estevez raced forward and tackled Bridges around the waist and kept running, slamming the bounty hunter back-first against the wall. 

With Bridges pinned where he was, Estevez took a step back and put a kick into his pursuer's midsection, forcing him to bend over. Estevez turned his back to Bridges, reached up his right arm and wrapped it around the man's head, then jumped off his feet. He landed in a seated position on the ground, while Bridges' neck was driven into Estevez's shoulder. A vicious "SNAP!" erupted from the impact, and Bridges rolled off of Estevez's right side, landing limply on the ground next to him. 

Estevez rose up next to Bridges' dead body and took his coat from the wall. He smoothly, triumphantly marched over to Dominguez, who lay on the ground writhing in agony and gasping for breath thanks to the knife stuck in his neck. Estevez reached down and grabbed the lighter, and ran the switchblade across Dominguez's throat as he removed it. Blood ran in a thick river from the expanded wound, and Dominguez made a few more desperate gasps for air before all motion in his body stopped entirely. 

The formerly pursued one snapped the blade shut and pocketed the lighter, then walked out of the alley, whistling an inappropriately upbeat tune. 

********

Two weeks of searching followed Edward's departure from the _Bebop_ . She had read every letter of Jet's list of leads, and commenced investigation of each and every one, starting first with those that Jet had crossed out, apparently thinking they were useless. Ed couldn't help but mentally scold the man, for she figured that a bounty hunter with his experience and background would be a little less sloppy; after all, any good bounty hunter, like any good detective - both of which occupied Jet Black's resumé - knows even the smallest, most mundane, and seemingly most insignificant details can lead to success. That was the first thing Faye Valentine taught Edward about this business. 

Turned out Jet was right on the money. All the crossed-out ones were duds. 

"Serves you right for thinkin' me wrong, kid," she could almost hear him say. 

Moving on, she then began checking the ones Jet either hadn't immediately disregarded or simply hadn't gotten to. Turned out they were duds too, or at least unsure enough to be considered so. One supposed eyewitness's testimony was instantly disposable thanks to his 20/200 eyesight. And of course he wasn't wearing his glasses when he presumably saw what he saw. It probably could have been a twenty-foot rhinoceros and he'd have mistaken it for Estevez. 

Another lead, a woman in Tharsis, proved just as dubious if only because of the odd circumstances regarding her situation; it seems she was the only witness to one of Estevez's recent murders, the victim of which just happened to be her husband. While attempting to summon help, Estevez saw her and attacked, throwing the poor woman's head against a brick wall. She of course survived, however the attack dealt a crippling blow in the form of interrograde memory dysfunction, or short term memory loss. She could apparently remember everything in vivid detail up to the time of the murder, but anything that happened since she couldn't remember shite about for more than a few minutes. In Lamen's terms, the blow to the head had permanently robbed her of the ability to create any new memories. Ed had to reintroduce herself several times during the interview. 

The only witness to the crime and she had brain damage. Doesn't attract much in the way of credibility, does it? 

On and on Edward went as each lead turned into a dead end. And even as hopeless as it was starting to look, Ed pressed on, despite the strain on her sanity. And even as useless as each one seemed, she diligently took notes and saved every bit of information, despite the strain on her writing hand and the supply of ink in her pen. 

Finally, there remained one final lead, one that Jet had highlighted in bright red, which Ed promptly recognized as his way of saying "DO NOT IGNORE THIS!" Must be good. 

Upon looking into the man's background, Ed lit up as she realized, yes, this is very good. 

The accompanying mugshot alone clearly justified the man's nickname of "Fatty". Age 43, former ISSP officer. In other words, an old friend of Jet's. And anyone who could be called a friend of Jet Black had to be reputable, if not 100% trustworthy; Jet himself told Edward that years ago after he finished some leftover business with some guy name Fad. He refused to go into any further detail. 

The lead took Ed straight back to Ganymede where she'd started. After a little asking around, she learned some of this Fatty's daily habits, such as his frequent trips to the supermarket - which didn't surprise her in the least - as well as the casino and the local music club, which rumor had it he was the owner of. It was the music club that was mentioned the most times; probably the one thing people knew the most about Fatty was his love of music, particularly the blues. So it seemed if he was anywhere to be found, the club was the place. 

She probed for directions with ease, taking her to the south side of Ganymede, to what from the the outside didn't look like much. However, the sounds of indistinct, mishmashed voices and the background beat of a well-whipped drum set accompanied by an electric guitar emanating from the inside quickly buried Edward's suspicions. Added to that, a large neon sign, in blindingly bright letters, effectively labeled the building "The Club At The End of the Street". 

Ed had never really been much into music, at least not with the kind of devotion she saw in Jet, who she knew was an avid lover of jazz. Maybe it was his prodding during Edward's time on _Bebop_ that eventually turned her on to it, but something about the soft rock rhythms she heard gliding from that guitar made her journey inside all the easier... 

She strolled in the door without much attention from anyone. 

The room was full of people, although no section of the premises seemed crowded or cluttered; the building was obviously a lot more spacious than it looked from outside. Right before the entrance was an large area with roundtables and chairs set up for those who wished to enjoy the entertainment while off their feet. Opposite the entrance was the bar, stylishly bordered in a minimalist array of neon lights. A line of people obscured whatever activity was happening there. Off on the other side of the room, another large area was set aside as a dance floor, where numerous people, most in couples, got their collective grooves on to the music. As for the music, next to the bar was a six-foot-high stage area, lit up with ceiling-suspended spotlights, where a live band jammed away, clearly much to the crowd's delight, for a large group of them were gathered right in front of the stage to make the most of the booming audio. 

Through the cloud of people blocking her view, Edward could just make out one lone figure standing at a the bar, who probably would have been just as noticeable no matter how man people were in the room. He stood about a head or two above all the others in the room, and had a rotundness to his shape that couldn't possible be ignored, even if one wanted to - not so much because the man was so fat it was grotesque, but rather because he was so large and yet so well-built. Andre the Giant would be envious. 

Without hesitation, Ed made her way to that location. She weaved in between tables and people, and finally found a spot at the bar, one that conveniently opened right next to the pudgy one. 

She called the attention of the bartender - a short man with spiky blond hair and multiple facial peircings - who immediately gave it to her. 

"What's yer pleasure?" he asked. 

"One of those, please," she requested, pointing to a black soft drink on the counter behind him. "Lots of ice too." 

The barkeep gave her a nod and got right on it, while handling a few other customers orders to. It was obvious it'd take him a minute or two to get hers. Good...plenty of time to starting probing the lead. 

Edward turned and leaned against the bar, becoming a nonchalant spectator to the surprisingly non-overwhelming activity in the room. At first the place had struck her as a wild rave-type club, what with the neon lights, the live rock music, and the hordes of dancers, but now that she was in the middle of it, she saw how normal the people around her were - well, minus of course the metal-embellished types like the bartender - and all this was just plain good fun for them. If she had time, she'd have joined right in. 

The husky man next to her turned and caught sight of the gorgeous creature on his right, and like on instinct moved in a little closer. A massive hand came down upon the counter, and a even larger arm brushed against Edward's. 

"Well, hello there, sweet thing," a gruff voice greeted her. 

Ed swiveled her eyes in the man's direction and took a good look at his features, just to make sure he matched the mugshot. He was about Jet's height, maybe an inch or two taller, dressed in an extra-large tanktop, a black leather vest, and black pants with large brown shoes. Mix in blonde hair that was grown into a ponytail, a thick-as-a-rainforest-mustache, and top it off with a tiny pair of red-lensed sunglasses balanced perfectly on his nose, obviously not for any sort of sight correction. 

Hello, Fatty. 

"And what do they call you?" he asked. 

Edward tilted back her head and yawned, while her right arm quickly reached inside her back packet and then stretched it out, aiming the hand at a very low angle. Fatty felt something hard nudge him down below. He looked down and saw the muzzle of Ed's gun pointed straight at his..."lower extremities". Edward smiled and turned her head to him. 

"They call me Mr. Glass," she joked, as she slipped the firearm back into her pocket. 

Fatty chuckled half-nervously. "Sorry I asked." 

"Fatty River, I presume?" she asked. 

"Maybe," Fatty replied, a tad apprehensive. "Just who's askin, 'Mr. Glass'?" 

"A friend of a friend," Ed answered. "So I hear you own this place." 

"Sure do," the big man said proudly. "She's my pride and joy; my own personal contribution to my love of music. And judging by the customers this place is bringin' in lately, it looks like it's donating its own contribution to my other love of fine women." 

"Well, I see Jet's dating principles haven't rubbed off on anyone," she scoffed. 

"Aaaaaahh..." Fatty exhaled in realization. "So you're that lady friend of Jet's he warned me about. Got a call from him a week or two ago, said some pretty little thing might come in askin' for me. His description hardly does ya justice. Dammit, now what'd he say your name was? Edna, Edina, Edmunda..." 

Edward narrowed her gaze and growled under her breath. "Just Ed will be fine." 

Right behind her, she heard the sound of glass hitting the tabletop. Her drink was finally here. Ed turned, ready to start gulping her drink, but stopped as she saw not only the beverage she ordered, but a full foaming mug of beer sitting right next to it. She stared at it a second, as if wondering what the hell to do with it, then reached over the counter and tapped on the barkeep's shoulder. 

"I didn't order this," she said, pointing to the mystery beer. 

"I know," he said. "The frontman ordered it for ya." 

He pointed toward the stage, where Edward's eyes immediately swerved. Up on the stage, the band finished the last note of the song they were playing. The frontman, who clearly provided lead guitar and vocals, set his instrument down next to a nearby stool, then grabbed the microphone and addressed the crowd: 

"We're takin' a little break right now, but don't worry, we ain't goin' nowhere." The voice was light and welcoming. 

His announcement was met with universal elation from the audience. The frontman then grabbed a beer bottle on the floor, turned and looked straight at Edward, and with a positively gorgeous little smile, raised his bottle in a toast, and politely nodded to her before taking a sip. 

He was a full six feet tall, with moderately tanned skin and long black hair that was tied into a tight ponytail coming out the back of his head. His Olympic-class upper body was beautifully displayed by his black shirt, skin-tight with the sleeves cut off, and garnished with a white dragon painted across the chest. His baggy gray leather pants, featuring another dragon pattern along the leg leg, were held up by a black belt with a silver buckle, and a pair of black boots peeked out below the rim of each leg. The fingers on his right hand were taped up to protect them while playing his instrument, and an elaborate tattoo, featuring a bleeding electric guitar tangled in a mass of barbed wire, encircled his right bicep and tricep. His face, strikingly handsome and perfectly shaped and featured, was only further decorated by his ravishing brown eyes and the five o'clock shadow sprouting from his jaw and the goatee pointing off his chin. 

Ed froze. Nothing had ever made her freeze like that before. And even stranger, she blushed. Nothing, and certainly no one, had ever made her do that either. All she could do was stare blankly back at him, her eyes wide open and her lips parted in a nearly microscopic oval-shaped gap. She blinked once, then without much else to respond with, she smiled off the left side of her mouth, and raised the beer and returned both the toast and the nod. 

Upon seeing his across-the-room greeting acknowledged, the frontman's cracked a satisfied grin, showing off his perfect teeth. 

"Good God, what a thing of beauty," was the first thing on Edward's thoughts. 

She shook it off and slapped herself in the side of the head. 

"Holy crap, what am I thinking!?" 

Ed just couldn't understand it. Men had never been on her mind before, at least never in this capacity, and especially never in this context. And this type of man no less...the archetypical rock star. That was the kind Faye expressly told her to avoid, and she taught her all the basics of how to resist their charms, because if Faye Valentine knew anything, it was how to deal with the slobbering, hormone-driven animals known as the male gender. But what was it about this one, this rock star, that caught Edward so incredibly off guard? His rugged good looks? The way he stood with that guitar in his hands and how confident he looked while performing in front of a screaming live audience? Was it something as idiotically simple as that raising of the bottle, followed by that little nod and that sweet smile he gave her? Dammit, what a time to realize something Faye didn't know - the difference between knowing how to deal with a situation, and then dealing with it for the very first time! 

All of the above ran through her head in about a quarter of a second. 

She whipped around to Fatty and asked, "Who is that guy?" 

"Call me senile, but for the life of me I can't remember his name either!" Fatty cursed himself. "I mean, he plays here three times a week, works on commission, gets paid in cash, brings in business like you wouldn't believe. You'd think I'd give the guy the common curteousy of remembering what the hell to call 'im!" 

"Well, better to not remember than always get it wrong," Ed quipped, thinking of an old purple-haired co-worker. But anyway... "Look, I came here for a reason, I heard you've got--" 

She was cut off when a burly dark-skinned man, obviously having refreshed his drink a few too many times, jumped in between Edward and Fatty and moved in uncomfortably close to Ed's face. Ed attempted to back away, but the drunkard's persistence, along with the barfly standing directly behind her, prohibited any such attempt to escape. 

"Hey, baby," the inebriated one groaned. "And wha's a sweet li'l piece like you doin' 'ere?" 

"The name ain't 'baby'," she retorted, "and my name only goes out to people worth my time. Movez vous, sil vous plâit." 

She tried to shove past him and get back to Fatty, but the drunkard just slipped in between them again. 

"Hey, whassamatter wit'chu!?" he grumbled. "I ain't good 'nuff to talk to you? You walk in 'ere all fancy 'n' shit, talkin' in French like some kinda 'ristocrat, and you're tellin' me y'ain't lookin' fer some action!? C'mon, baby I got all the action yer lookin' fer!" 

"Bub, you've got three seconds to get out of my path," Edward warned. 

"Well why don't I save ya the trouble!?" the intoxicated man challenged. "One...two...thr--" 

Edward was about to clock him, but all of a sudden, the enigmatic frontman stepped in out of nowhere and placed himself between her and the drunkard. 

"Hey, barkeep!" he called. "Get me a glass here, will ya?" 

"What the hell you think yer doin'!?" the drunkard yelled. 

"Don't mind me, man, I'm gettin' my fill like everybody else," the frontman replied. He then turned to Edward. "The people who come in here, huh?" 

"Look, music man," she said, "I appreciate the gentlemanly gesture and all, but I'm getting just a little tired of people walking in front of me and getting in my business." 

"Trust me, ma'am," he whispered. "This is one bit of business you're gonna want a partner in." 

"Nobody told you to get in the middle o' this, buddy!" the drunkard roared. "Case you hadn't noticed, me 'n' the lady 'ere were talkin', so why don't you get to walkin' away 'fore I do somethin' I know I ain't gonna regret!?" 

"Friend, you've had a lot to drink, so I think you oughta just go and take a nap or go dunk your head in a bucket of cold water or something, and leave the lady alone." 

"Son, I don't think you want to get involved here," Fatty warned him. 

"Hey, it's all good, Fats," the frontman replied. "I got this one covered." 

While he spoke, the bartender set down a single, empty glass next to the frontman's playing hand. The frontman discreetly wrapped his fingers around it, getting a good, solid grip. 

"Oh yeah!?" the wasted one blared. "Well why don't you cover THIS!?" 

The drunkard reeled back and threw the first punch. The frontman whipped the glass off the table, held it from the bottom, and thrust it forward at the same time the drunk man threw the punch. The drunkard's hand impacted hard against the rim of the glass, shattering the top half, while the fist impaled itself upon the remaining shards! The drunkard screamed in agony and held his disabled appendage, but his cry was ended as the frontman shot forward and swiped a right-handed punch straight across the sloshed man's jaw. The drunkard stumbled backwards and landed on a nearby table, flipping the furniture over completely. In the process, the drinks scattered stop the table were thrown into the air, eventually landing on their owners, the now very angry-looking occupants of the tipped table. 

Edward watched in disbelief at the frontman's continued acts of chivalry. 

"Is this what you call business as usual?" she asked. 

"Ah, this kinda thing happens at least once a month," the frontman replied, calmly massaging his fist. "Some moron has too much to drink, hits on the wrong girl, gets his ass rightfully handed to him, either by me or some other brave fool. Costs Fatty a couple woolongs for a new table, no big deal. Right, Fats?" 

As he turned to the club owner for agreement, all he got was Fatty silently pointing to his right, indicating the still miffed group that was now wearing their drinks thanks to the inconvenient results of the frontman's well-placed slug to the mug. Three men, all very big and strong, all looking like they walked straight out of a gangster movie. They simultaneously rose to their feet and slowly made their way in the frontman's direction. 

"And this?" Edward asked. 

"I dunno," he replied. "Usually it doesn't go much further than that first punch." 

The leader of the three-man gang, a mustached one, reached inside his jacket for what was most likely a weapon, perhaps a firearm. He was almost close enough to use it without missing. 

The frontman turned back to Ed. 

"You might wanna get out of here, ma'am." 

In response, Edward did run...however, instead of running away, she jumped up on top of the bar and ran across it, past both the frontman and Fatty. When in the fight position, she leaped off the bar, soared toward the would-be assassin, and thrust her knee forward in mid-air, smashing it hard against the leader's face! The leader flew backwards and flipped up another table, while Edward landed clean on her feet. The two henchmen went straight for her, and Ed kept charging. She ducked underneath the punch thrown by the first henchman, kept on going and landed a blow to the stomach of the second, who was forced to bend over, clutching his gut. Ed grabbed the man by his collar, ran back toward the first one, and clonked the two stooges' heads together! The first henchman fell against the bar, while the second stumbled back, now holding both his forehead and gut. Edward jumped and somersaulted backwards, snapping her feet against the man's face, instantly sending him to meet the floor. 

She turned her attention back to the first henchman, who after getting up from the bar made ready to throw another punch. Edward blocked the blow and lifted up her right leg, kicking first in the stomach, and again in the face, stunning him. She then twirled around and placed the sole of her shoe against his backside, then with incredible strength shoved him forward, straight toward the frontman, who took his cue perfectly and wheeled his leg forward, slapping the sole of his boot against the man's jaw. With the echoing pop of rubber against flesh, the third and final man went down. 

As the offender lay unconscious on the floor, things became calm again. The frontman stood over the body, shaking the kinks out of his leg. He looked up at Edward, smiling that same little smile of his. 

"The bigger they are, huh?" he jibed. 

Edward said nothing, did nothing. She didn't even smile back at him for his help. She just stood still as a statue for a second, staring seriously at her musical savior. Then, like a grenade from a launcher, she bolted forward and raced straight at the startled frontman. 

"Hey, wait a sec--!" he started. 

But instead of attacking him, she pushed him to one side and projected her right fist, shoveling it right into the face of another bar patron, who was about to assault the frontman from behind. The failed assailant fell back and landed in the arms of a few other spectators, who went to the floor right along with him. 

"Is this what you call business as usual?" the frontman asked, returning Edward's previous query. 

"I call this a slow night," she replied. 

She glanced behind him and subtly pointed in the same direction. 

"Uuuuh..." 

Without even looking, the frontman reacted to the warning, as yet another would-be aggressor took the stage, again trying to get the band leader on his blind side. The frontman whirled to his side, raised one leg, and delivered a kick to the back of the head. The attacker stumbled toward Edward, who bent downward, grabbed the man by the legs, and in another feat of strength tossed the poor guy up and over her shoulder! He did a full flip in mid-air and landed back-first upon the bar, alcoholic liquid splashing everywhere from the impact. 

The atmosphere in the room was quickly getting more and more hostile. The surrounding whispers turned into growls, growls into shouts, and shouts into the exchange of some violent threats. 

Then, somewhere off in a dark corner of the room, somebody gave someone else a shove. 

And that was all it took. 

"Crap on me, not again..." groaned Fatty.   
  
  


**_EXIT LIGHT, ENTER NIGHT..._**


	3. Dancin' in the Dark

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 3:**  
**_Dancin' in the Dark_**  


"Wow..." Jet reacted, with only somewhat sincere surprise. "So she really wrecked the place, huh?" 

"Wrecked it?" Fatty quoted over the phone. "Hell, she and the band leader tore this place a new one! I don't think there's a single piece of wood in here that wasn't part of something bigger before the fight got started." 

"So how much are damages?" asked Jet, this time with a hint of very straightforward dread. 

"Well, the contractor just left," Fatty answered, sounding strangely optimistic, "and he says it's gonna total me just under a million woolongs, which ain't that big a surprise seein' as how the bar is split in two over there. The bigger one is that your little conchita overpaid me." 

"Wait wait...she paid for the damage?" 

"Yep, handed over a million five hundred thousand, based only on her own calculations. I mean, I've had to bone it up for plenty of barfights since since I opened the place, but I've never seen the one who started it add up the bill and actually pay the price in full to boot! Now how do you explain that?" 

Jet smiled as he ran a hand over his big bald head. "Let's just say she and her old partner have a good bit of history causing expensive amounts of damage." 

"And if that wasn't crazy enough," Fatty went on, "then I find out what she wanted from me! Of all people, she's after Double-E!? You did warn her about him, didn't ya?" 

"Tried my best to talk her out of it." 

"I just don't know about this, Jet," he wondered. "I mean, no doubt, Ed's a tough little hombre. She walked outta that fight without a friggin' scratch on her. But you come across one-punch suckers every damn day; Erik Estevez is a whole other can o' fruit. I hope you're prayin' good and hard for her, man. 'Cause if she actually finds Double-E, bet yer last woolong she's gonna need all the divine intervention she can get." 

Jet sighed. "What can I tell ya, Fatty?" he asked wistfully. "Women do not act on reason." 

He shut off the phone, and Fatty's image dissolved from the moniter. He leaned back upon the couch and blew a puff of secondhand smoke into the air above. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply while the smoky perfume surrounded him on all sides. He reopened his eyes, glancing towards a small table on the far end of the room. Upon the table sat a few old licquor bottles, an unloaded gun that hadn't been touched in weeks, two spare clips, and a single photograph, slightly worn, but still clear as a bell. 

In the photo were two men, smiling casually for the camera. On the left was obviously Jet, dressed in his usual mechanic's attire and a pair of black sunglasses. His right arm was draped upon the shoulders of the guy next to him, a tall, lanky individual sucking on a cigarette, dressed in a dark blue suit and a loosely knotted black tie. Although barely visible in this picture, his eyes were two different colors; the right eye was a rich brown shade, while the left was a slightly duller, more mechanical, artificially-colored hue. However the most distinguishing feature was the poofy head of hair upon his scalp, which, from what one might assume was just weird lighting or poor photographic developing, appeared to be dark olive green. 

Jet didn't take his eyes off the photo, while he took in and let out another breath of cancer-inducing fumes. 

"I hope you're watchin'," he said, "and I hope you're takin' notes." 

********

One hour eariler... 

POW! 

The last one went down. The body slumped to Edward's feet and remained there. Ed puffed in triumph and brushed her hands off one another, clapping away the dust. She then cracked her knuckles and slips both hands into her pockets. What a joke. This wasn't a bar brawl; it was nothing but an overlong series of one-punch fights. 

She took a quick glance around the room. Unconscious bodies were strewn about the premises, some left in rather uncomfortable positions. Also strewn about was the furniture, none of which was left intact. Even the one table that seemed the most undamaged was missing a leg. Taking a look behind her, she saw almost every bottle on the bar display smashed to pieces, the neon lights brought to the floor, and even the bar itself had been broken in two, with a chunky-looking man lying on the breaking point. 

Okay, so yeah...it was a bar brawl. She'd still seen a lot worse. 

Or not. Whatever. 

The sounds of moving bodies caught her attention, and she looked near the entrance, where the heroic frontman, the only other unscatched member of the ruckus, stood with his guitar - a beautiful ebony black that tinted green under just the right light - in one hand, and the collar of a scared and tired little man who Ed remembered tried to attack the frontman sometime during the midpoint of the brawl. The frontman shook the little guy furiously as he waved the guitar in his face. 

"Think you're damn tough, do ya!?" he shouted. "Try to hit me with my own guitar, huh? I'll tell you one thing you best never forget, pal! You can do all you want to a guy; you can punch him, kick him, hit him in the knobs, talk trash about his mama...but you never...and I mean _never_...touch his guitar! You listenin' to me!?" 

The little man was given no opporunity to answer, as he was busy attempting the stay on his feet while the frontman kept shaking him. The musician finally released his collar and shoved him back a foot, then outstretched his other hand and held out the instrument. 

"You wanna prove how bad you are?" he challenged. "Go on and take it." 

The little man just stared at him, amazed that he would make such a request. 

"What are you waiting for, a written invitation!?" the frontman insisted. "Take the damn thing and hit me with it! That's what you wanted, isn't it? Well here's your chance! Take the guitar and smash it right over my head. Come on, asshole, I dare ya!" 

The little man continued to gawk, then started to reach out, but hesitated. 

"Take it, bright boy," the frontman continued. "Consider it a gift." 

Finally, the man reached out and tried to grab the "weapon", but before his hands even came close, the frontman pulled the instrument away, then shot forth his head and butted it against the little man's nose. The victimized one sailed off his feet and sprawled himself on top of another motionless body. 

The frontman stretched his neck muscles, slung the guitar strap over his shoulder, and turned to the observing Edward. 

"A guy can only put up with so much, y'know?" he said. 

Edward only smiled and softly uttered three words: "On your left." 

With a classicly comical uttering of "Huh?", the frontman turned to his left, and yelped in surprise as another victim of the melee came barreling towards him, wielding a large piece of snapped-off wood. The last thing Edward saw before turning away was the frontman getting tackled around the waist. Afterwards she heard a wooden thump, a crashing sound not unlike garbage cans getting knocking over, a few random grunts and shouts, and finally the crunch of something snapping in two over someone's head. When Ed looked again, all she saw was the door swinging back and forth. It seemed they unofficially decided to "take it outside". 

Ed shrugged. "It certainly was a nice guitar." 

Taking another look around the room, she asked no one in particular, "I wonder where Fatty is in all of this?" 

Turning to where she was standing before the fight started, she flinched back in surprise as she saw Fatty, standing exactly where he was before the fight started, seemingly untouched during the entire event. 

"How'd you avoid all of that?" Edward asked. 

"Experience," he answered. "That was one expensive drink you ordered." 

Instantly catching the hidden meaning, an embarrassed Ed grinned chagrinedly and took yet another look around the destroyed music club. She started muttering a few indistinct numbers under her breath while she appearantly added up the repair costs in her head, while Fatty listened in wonder as she did so. She took everything into account; the broken chairs and tables, the door that just now started to hang on only one hinge, everything. She looked back at the bar and winced at the sight of the broken counter, as well as the smashed lights and bottles. She then went into silent thought as she summed it all up, and after finding a total, she no longer looked as aghast. 

"Easy come, easy go," she noted, as she pulled out her wallet and extracted a bank card. 

She held the car over the broken bar and dangled it in her fingers. 

"Take out 1.5 million," she said. 

From the behind the counter, the shivering arm of the bartender reached up and took the card from her. 

"Now then," Fatty said. "I believe there was something you wanted from me?" 

"Yeah," Ed replied. "I found your name off a list of leads for a bounty Jet was after a while ago. He decided to call it quits on the guy, and when I told him I'd take over, he gave me all his info. So now I'm here. What have you got?" 

"My memory's a little fuzzy, kid," Fatty said, bearing a sly smirk. "What exactly am I supposed to be sayin'?" 

Edward put her hands on her hips and flipped her shirt off her shoulders as they rose, revealing the pocket with the gun handle sticking out of it. 

"I'm already paying for the damage to the club," she reminded him. "Now start talking or your down payment is gonna be in bullets." 

"Awright, awright already!" Fatty exclaimed, raising his hands in I-surrender fashion. "Can't blame a guy for just tryin' to make a little extra. It's just standard informant practice anyway...You say, 'Start talking', I say, 'It'll cost ya'...You know the drill, right? Didn't nobody ever teach you that at bounty hunting school?" 

"Sure they did. I was also taught never to play that game if I don't have to. You want to get started before Edward loses any more patience?" 

Fatty relaxed and took a deep breath. "I take it the topic of conversation is that of one Erik 'Double-E' Estevez?" he asked with rue. 

"That's the one," she replied. 

"Well, I ain't gonna tell ya how to do your job or nothin', so I'll just get down to it," Fatty said. "There's this guy living over by the warehouse district. Never heard his name, but he's pretty hard to miss. How I came into contact with him, don't ask, but he claims he has some big understanding of where Estevez is gonna blow shit up next. I don't know exactly where he lives, so you're gonna have to ask around for him." 

"You sure you don't have a name?" she asked. 

"Y'know, come to think of it, a few folks I asked said they call him 'Hev', I think." 

At the sound of the nickname, Edward smiled. "Gotcha," she said, then turned toward the bar. "You done back there?" 

A couple electronice beep sounded, and the bartender's hand popped up again, holding Ed's bank card. She snatched it from his grasp and shoved it back into her wallet. Before she pocketed the wallet, however, she pulled a few woolong bills and tossed them behind the bar. 

"For your troubles," she said. 

She then turned, hands in pockets, and started for the door. 

"If you live long enough," Fatty called, "give Jet my regards." 

"No prob," she replied. 

She pushed open the door, which detached from its remaining hinge and plopped to the ground. She made no qualms and simply walked over it on her way under the doorframe. 

Once outside, the first thing she saw was the man who tackled the frontman, lying senseless and face down on the pavement, the piece of wood he was holding now on his head, snapped perfectly in half over his skull. The frontman had obviously won this part of the post-quarrel quarrel. Where the frontman was now, however, could not be ascertained. 

Edward walked down the street, where RedTail was parked on the corner of the nearest intersection. She unlocked and opened the door, then without a second thought jumped inside and placed herself in the driver's seat. 

She was about to start the engine, but all of a sudden she heard a single strum of an electric guitar echoing from the radio speakers. This was followed by: 

"Nice ride you got here." 

Edward's head whipped to the passenger side of the cockpit, where to her immense surprise the enigmatic frontman was seated, guitar in his hands and plugged into the dashboard. 

"Military issue, no question, but I bet the guys who built this thing would be pretty jealous if they saw what you'd been doin' to it," he advanced. "Probably make 'em wish they thought of it first. MX-9K miniguns, tazer-equipped grapplers...those must have cost you at least two million woolongs a pop...and might I add, that's one spiffy set of plasma rifles you've on the sides here." 

"What in the sam hell are you doing!?" she demanded. 

"Waxing a Buick; what's it look like?" was the jocular reply. 

"Get out of my ship!" Edward barked. "How did you even get in here anyway!?" 

"I've got my methods," he said. "You'd be amazed how a musical background can aid in learning how to pick a lock." 

Ed's gun was promptly removed from her pocket and pointed at the guitarist's temple. 

"You'll be picking lead out of your ear if you and your little six-string samurai don't get your asses out of that seat!" she hissed. 

The frontman smirked as he turned his eyes toward her. Then with a simple motion of his hands, he licked the neck of his guitar at Edward's hand, knocking the firearm from its grasp. At the same time he reached out his left hand, caught the gun, and pointed it back at Edward, placing the barrel upon her forehead. His smile dissolved, however, when he suddenly heard a metallic snap, followed by the cold, smooth texture of the three-inch blade of a Swiss Army pocketknife held against his armpit. 

"All right..." he expired. "How 'bout we just start from the beginning here?" 

He twirled the gun around and held the handle in Ed's direction. In return, she removed the knife from his underarm and closed the blade, took back her gun, and put both weapons back into their respective pockets. 

"What do you want?" she asked. 

"Well for one thing, I would have liked a more peaceful introduction to you than what happened in there," the frontman wittily answered. "I mean, seriously, there are much better ways to meet girls than in the middle of World War III. But since first impressions have already gone to waste, I'll get to the point. I want Double-E, same as you." 

Edward stopped herself from bursting into laughter and replied, "That a fact?" 

"Yeah, it's a fact," the frontman said, appearantly quite aware of how funny it seemed to her. "I may be a musician, but I figured you for certain oughta know you can't put a label on a guy just by what he looks like. For example, this sweet-lookin' girl with the body of supermodel walks into my workplace one night, and ends up giving the place a steel-toed enema. Sound familiar, Ms. Bounty Hunter?" 

"Oh, and I suppose you're a cowboy too, huh?" she asked with blatant cynicism. 

"I may not have been born into the profession like some folks, but I guess a rose by any other name has just as many thorns." 

"How poetic," Edward groaned. "And just how were you planning on finding the guy while working the stage at Fatty's?" 

"Well, you knew he had information," the frontman argued. "Why else would I be working there if I didn't think I could get it out of him myself?" 

"And it never occured to you to just walk up and ask him?" 

"I never told him I was a bounty hunter," he explained. "Didn't see the need to. So I walked in the door with my six-string in tow, said, 'Hey, got a place for a traveling music man?' He had the band, I had the talent, and we worked it out from there." 

"I repeat: it never occured to you to just walk up and ask?" 

"I like doing things on a little more discreet level, thank you very much!" he snapped, annoyed with her incessant mockery. "And after I was already posing as nothing but a band leader, if I told him I was just wanted him to squeal, he'd have broken me in half. Or just sat on me. Bottom line, it'd be unpleasant. So anyway, I knew Fats had information, and it was getting to be common knowledge that he did, so all I had to do was wait for some other bounty hunter to walk in and ask the right questions. A couple guys came in, but I had a feeling I was wasting my time, 'cause Fatty never told the same story twice." 

Edward turned a bit dour at the sound of that. 

"But then you walked in tonight, and after listening in on your little discussion, I thought this'd be the perfect opportunity, cause I don't think Fatty would give the wrong details to 'a friend of a friend', as you put it." 

Ed was about to ask the inevitable question of how, but the frontman immediately cut her off with the answer: 

"I read lips." 

She groaned again. 

"I had already gotten some hints on who the informant was," he continued, "and all I needed was the confirmation. Now that I know for sure who the guy is, I can go there and do my thing without any problems. 

"Okay, smart guy, what's the man's name?" Edward asked. 

"Freddie Queen, so I'd heard. But somehow, lately he's gotten the nickname 'Heavy Metal'. Hence the other nickname 'Hev', like Fatty said." 

Ed raised an eyebrow. The man did his homework. Impressive. 

"So, we goin' there now," he inquired, "or you need to make a stop on the way?" 

This time, there was no stopping Edward's laughter from exploding out of her lungs. 

"Let me get this straight," she sniggered. "You eavesdrop on a private conversation just because you're too scared to talk to Fatty one-on-one, and now you expect me to hitch you a ride to my informant just because you helped throw a few punches in a fight that you helped start?" 

"You make it sound so unreasonable," the frontman said with a smile, like he too realized how idiotic it sounded. 

"Unreasonable!? It's downright insane! I don't even know you, man!" 

"Well maybe you oughta try it before you start judging!" he debated. "What, are you afraid I'm gonna steal your reward? I've met plenty of bounty hunters in my life, and just about all of 'em told me part of taking pride in being in this business is accepting the fact that you've got competition. The more you come to terms with that, the more fun you can have with your job." 

"Brother, I've spent half my life running with the bulls...the real bounty hunters," Edward lectured. "The kind you only meet on your worst bloody day. And any one of them will say that say there isn't a damn bit of fun to be had in this 'business', especially not in the competition. You either pay your bills or you don't, eat or you don't, succeed or you don't. First rule of the business, bub; screw the competition, it's every one for themselves." 

"Is that what your partner told you?" the frontman asked while he tuned his guitar strings. 

Caught a little off guard by the question, she narrowed her gaze and responded, "What partner?" 

"Pictures of the two of you are pretty rare, but I'm pretty sure you're the one I'm thinking of," he explained, looking like he'd just discovered the treasure of Monte Cristo. "Every time I'd heard about a certain Asian beauty catching a big bounty, someone would say there was this little redhead follwing her around. Orange skin, energetic as Pop Rocks in soda." 

"And you're referring to what now?" Edward asked, trying her best to sound oblivious to the point he was making. 

"All right, fine," the frontman said, shrugging it off. "You don't know me, you don't have to tell me anything. I got my own ways of finding answers." 

He turned back to his guitar and started strumming a random series of notes. He repeated the series several times, often with one or two notes being exchanged. Meanwhile, Edward gazed at him with a glimmer of awe, astonished at how persistent he was, and yet how intelligent he seemed along the way. He didn't come off as an amatuer or a wannabe, and he certainly wasn't any simple virtuoso. 

She smiled and shook her head slightly. 

"You got a name, music man?" 

He looked up from his instrument and looked her in the eyes. 

"Crey," he addressed himself. "Crey Jenét DeSanto." 

Edward let the name enter her head. Sounds fake, she thought. However two things crossed her mind following that observation; first, she'd heard plenty a stranger-sounding name that turned out to be the real thing, and second, she of all people could hardly condemn another person for the employment of a misleading monicker. Plus the name, this Crey Jenét DeSanto...one might call it a precocious perception, but it just sounded so exotic, so adventurous, so out of the ordinary. Sounded like just her kind of guy. 

"Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV," she rejoindered. 

She felt satisfaction in the bewilderment that struck Crey's face. It was a look she was very much used to, and one she still took incredible pleasure in. 

"You might wanna repeat that a few times," he said. "Just so I can get it right in case I gotta remember the whole thing." 

She strapped in and started the engine. 

"Seat belts, boy wonder," she warned. 

Crey clawed his fingers into his seat as RedTail swiftly went skyward.

********

A warehouse...why is it a shady character is always hiding out in a place like a warehouse? 

Because it fits their character perfectly, that's why. Think of the typical warehouse; it's dark, it's dingy, and you wish you could store an unwanted object there where you could walk away and forget about it entirely. Whatever the object, it'd just blend in with all the other junk stored there, and you could leave it to his own devices for the rest of eternity if it could last that long. There are some people in the universe who fit right into that sort of environment. 

From the look of things, Freddie Queen was one of those people. 

RedTail made its landing in front of not a warehouse, but the first building next to the district, a shabby apartment complex that evidently didn't, or dare one say it couldn't have too many people living there. Half the roof was missing, and even large pieces of the walls were worn away on the same side. If Mr. Queen was the kind of man who is hard to miss, his choice of residence was the kind of place you would prefer to. 

Edward was about to open the hatch and climb out, but Crey grabbed her arm and stopped her. 

"How 'bout you let me handle this one?" he offered. 

"Why?" 

"Understandably so, you're not quite convinced of my skills outside of the music curcuit," he said. "If I may, I'd just like to take this chance to show you what I can do in this sort of situation." 

Ed narrowed her gaze. Maybe she overspoke herself when she thought of him as intelligent. Maybe reckless or hard-headed were better terms. 

"I think you'd better let me do the talking here," she appealed. 

"Just let me prove myself this one time," he begged. "If you're still not confident in me, you can drop me off back at Fatty's and you'll never have to see me again." 

Well damn, now she didn't know what she wanted. 

With a guileful look, she took her hand away from the door handle and leaned against the back of her seat, arms folded. 

"Awright, Smokey," she dared. "Go catch your bandit. Edward will be waiting right here when you're finished." 

She tilted her head back, slipped her hacking goggles over her eyes, and appeared to drift off to sleep. 

With a quizzical glance, Crey set his guitar aside and exited out the passenger side door. Keeping his eyes on the dozing Edward, he walked toward the entrance to the building and opened the obnoxiously creaking door, being careful not to cause too much noise. 

Once inside, he weaved through a hallway or two, following to the letter the directions he had obtained; down the hall, to the left, up the stairs, down the hall, and it'll be the second door on the right...room 2-B. The doorknob was decorated with a small hanging sign that displayed an inhospitable cry of "GO AWAY!" A few others signs were plastered upon the face of the door, including "Solicitors will be disembowled", "Screw the dog - Beware of owner", and the contradictorily humorous plea of "Hang up the phone and drive, stupid!" 

Almost not willing to, Crey raised a hand and knocked three times. 

At first, there came no response except a few vague noises from inside the room, like someone turning over in a bed creakier than the front door. He was about to knock again, but then: 

"What is it!?" 

A harsh, metallic voice. Sort of like sheet metal getting scraped upon a gravel driveway. 

Crey jumped back a little and allowed himself to caught up with his skin. 

"Freddie Queen?" he called. 

"Maybe," the voice answered. 

"Freddie 'Heavy Metal' Queen?" Crey reprised. 

The voice moaned in loathing. "What do you want!?" 

"Information I heard you have," said Crey. "I got money, if that makes talking about it any easier." 

The voice moaned again. "C'mon in...it's open." 

Crey turned the knob and pushed in the door. 

The inside of the apartment looked worse than the outside of the building that contained it. The walls were in dire need of new paint, the floor boards made more noise than the door or the bed, and out of the corner of his eye, Crey saw a herd of cockroaches making the rounds in one of the room's many dark areas, provided by the single light bulb dangling delicately from the ceiling. The clamorous bed sat on the far end of the room, accompanied by a single beat-up pillow and an unfolded and more than likely unwashed bedsheet. Off in the corner was a mini-kitchen, complete with a refrigerator, oven, stove, and a sink, all of which were empty. Opposite that was an eclosed area that Crey guessed was the bathroom, thanks to the urine-like odor coming from within. 

Crey cautiously walked in the middle of the room and stood next to the hanging light. He couldn't help but feel a little mixed up, because it seemed he was the only one there. 

That analysis proved false when someone behind him slammed the door shut. 

Crey again jumped, this time leaping forward to a safe distance, then whirling and shifting into a fighting stance. 

The figure in front of the door was visible only because of a few faint outlined provided by the dim light. He was a hulking man, about seven feet tall. 

"I just came here to talk, friend," Crey said in his own defense. "I didn't come here to get boxed in." 

"I'm not your friend," the metallic voice said. "And if you I are gonna talk, we do it in private. You said you have money. How much?" 

"Let's hear what you've gotta say first," Crey replied, relaxing himself. 

"You want my information, you pay first. You got a problem with that, here's the door," the figure said. "Don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out." 

Crey clenched his teeth, and without much thought lunged at the hulk. In mid-dash he started to swing his leg out, intent on cleaning his boot with the man's teeth. The kick glided straight off the hulk's jaw, while a very metallic sound erupted from the impact. Crey stopped short as the larger man took his attack like a stone wall, and could only wonder why his foot felt like he'd just kicked the side of a tank. 

His mind didn't have much to wander, unfortunately, for the hulk's right hand suddenly rushed at him and shoved him in the chest. This impact too felt like cold steel, and Crey was sent across the room, bouncing off the bed and landing with a PLOP! upon the floor. 

The hulk started walking toward him, and the closer he got to the light, the more of him one could see, and the more light reflected off his armor. 

Armor? 

Yes, armor. 

When the hulking figure of Freddie Queen stood next to the hanging light, Crey could plainly see why his assault was ineffectual, as well as why this informant was given the name of "Heavy Metal", for literally half the man's body consisted of cybernetic parts. This included three-forths of his right arm, his entire left arm, his lower left leg, the right leg from the middle of the thigh and downward, and even part of his stomach. Most ghastly, however, was the head of this half-human juggernaut, of which only about a third was actual flesh. The rest, the entire left side of his face and the lower half of his right, was metal-encased, and equipped with an infrared monocle in place of a left eye, and a lipless, skull-like array of gleeming silver teeth lining the mouth. The remainder that was flesh featured an angry-looking blue eye and a shock of ragged brown hair. 

"Aaaaaaaaaaaww crap..." Crey droned. 

"You try that again, you won't have any left in you when I'm done," Queen threatened. "Now why don't you tell me how much you've got on you before I start breaking random bones?" 

The hulk began to advance again, and Crey replied by slipping back into a defensive stature, regardless of how futile he thought it would be. 

Both of them stopped when the sound of a cocking gun interrupted the proceedings. 

"Why don't you tell him about the hardware, Hev?" a female asked. 

Queen's right eye popped at the sound of the voice, and he turned to the darkest side of the room, where a single wooden chair was set down. Sitting in the chair, her presence hinted only by a few subtle reflections off her body parts closest to the light, was a women, her hand extended and wielding a gun. 

"Tell him how you got it," she said. "Ask him where he got the hardware, Crey." 

"Who the hell are--?" Queen started. 

The woman got up from the chair and walked into the light, and Queen watched as Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV revealed herself, the slyest of looks on her face. 

Queen's face turned to one of pure horror, and his metal parts started rattling. 

"Oh..." he stuttered. "H-Hey there, Ed..." 

An amazed Crey turned to Edward and cried, "You know this guy!?" 

"Personally, no," Edward answered. "But you can bet he sure knows me, don't you, Hev? Tell him about the hardware. How'd you get it? What kinda trouble did you get yourself into that turned you into Cyberdyne's poster boy?" 

"C'mon, Ed," Queen pleaded. "Don't start this with me!" 

"You think I don't know where to aim this thing, Hev?" she said, waving the gun in his direction. "There's a central nerve cable running right down the back of your throat, helps keep your whole body running. Now say I was gonna feed you my first shot. One millimeter on either side of that cable would cause unpredictable short circuiting and mechanical failure. But you know I'm a much better shot than that, don't you, Hev? If I was to sever that cable entirely, which you know I very well could, you are for all intents and purposes up Shit Creek. Ain't that right?" 

"Ed, m-maybe we can w-work somethin' out here..." Queen continued to blubber. "I mean, I d-didn't know this guy was a friend o' yours, I j-just..." 

"So how'd he get the hardware?" Crey asked, now very interested in the subject. 

"Shut up!" Queen roared. 

"Chrome Dome here ran a special job for the Syndicate a year ago," Edward explained. "Simple stuff, some weapons shipments to Tharsis. No biggie, or so he thought. They set him up for a fall. Got shot at, blown up, kicked around all over the planet before he got caught. Multiple missing limps and broken bones, massive blood loss...it was the single worst condition a bounty head had been accepted in by ISSP." 

Queen's cybernetic parts chattered with rage as he listened to her story. 

"Now, I know part of that reward had to go to your repairs, Hev," she continued, "but I forget, just which body part did I cost you?" 

The cyborg grew increasingly frenzied by her words. 

"I'm just terrible with details like this," Edward taunted. "Was it the left arm? The right? One of the legs? That nutcracker mouth? Or was it that internal combustion engine of a stomach you've got in there?" 

The fists clenched, and the teeth grinded. 

"Oh, now I remember!" she declared, slapping herself. "All of the above." 

Queen reeled back and bellowed with rage, then charged at the woman. As he hustled toward her, she first slipped the gun back into her shirt, and exhanged it for her pocketknife. She flicked open the blade, and as Queen came close enough, he through a wide, easily avoidable punch. She ducked underneath his arm, and as she saw her opening, she darted at him and run the tip of the knife inside his mouth! Upon contact with the curuitry inside, an electrical spark exploded inside the joints. While Queen was frozen with shock, Edward withdrew the knife and dodged behind him, where she slashed the blade at the back of his neck, severing a small wire exposed along his chrome-plated spinal column. 

Edward jumped back from the cyborg as another series of sparks were blown from the damaged machinery. She backed away and took a stand next to the flabbergast Crey, while Queen's head started convulsing violently, as a few more sparks lit up the room. 

Finally, Queen stopped shaking. Something dropped from his head, and a clamorous THUNK! resonated from the floor. The detached object bounced a few feet, and when it stopped moving entirely, it turned out to be Queen's jaw. 

Edward simply leered like this was nothing new, while Crey, eyes open to their maximum extent, stared at the removed apparatus. 

Queen slumped his shoulders and turned around, revealing his jawless head. His right eye narrowed. 

"You're a real pain, ya know that?" he asked. 

"I aim to displease," Ed replied. "You have information on Erik Estevez. I want it. Speak." 

"Who told you I knew anything on Double-E?" Queen asked. 

"Fatty River," Crey asnwered. "Mentioned you by name." 

"Nuts..." Queen hexed. "What do you want to hear?" 

"What do you know?" Ed requested. 

"Well, whatever Fatty said I had, he was mistaken," Queen clarified. "I don't know everything about everything, I've just got a few loose nits. I'm not the guy, I'm really just the guy who knows a guy who knows the guy, y'know?" 

"No, I don't, Hev," Edward boredly said. "Continue, please." 

"I met Double-E just after he pulled the job at World Energy," Queen recalled. "He was the guy the Syndicate sent to let me in on the weapons job. I talked with him for five minutes, and I haven't seen 'im since. He was in one hell of a hurry though. Whatever he was on his way to do, it had to be what got him kicked out of the Syndie." 

"Kicked out?" asked Crey. "I thought he left the Syndicate." 

"Estevez didn't give a rat's ass about them," said Queen. "But, like, a day after he talked to me, I was hearing news that he was their new number one priority. Whatever he did, it pissed them off royal. That hundred million on his head was put up by ISSP, but it was financed by the Syndie. They want him even more bad than anybody else who's lookin' for 'im." 

"That's a matter of opinion," Edward scorned. "What happened?" 

"All I know is, the Syndie told him to do something, and he said no." 

"He turned down orders from the Syndicate?" 

"Yeah. One of the last things he told me before we finished talking was that he had to keep moving quickly, or else he'd lose track of...'The Pattern'." 

"'The Pattern'?" 

"'The Pattern'." 

"And what, pray tell, is 'The Pattern'?" asked Edward. 

"If I knew, don't you think I'd be calling it something other than 'The Pattern'?" Queen retorted. 

"Wait wait wait, I think I heard something about this," Crey interposed. "I heard some news gurus on the net say that before he blew up World Energy, he started to see some weird pattern in the locations of all the places he'd hit. And if he wanted to complete that pattern, he had to duck out of the Syndicate at a certain point. Any of that ringing a bell?" 

"Yeah, that's right!" Queen agreed. "Up to WE, everything fit into his plan. After that, he went on his own." 

"Where's he going to hit next?" asked Edward. 

"I dunno." 

"Why do you lie to me, Hev? You know I hate it when you lie." 

"I said I don't know." 

Edward drew the gun again and pointed it straight at the nerve cable in Queen's throat. 

"God dammit, Hev!" 

_"I DON'T KNOOOOW!!!"_ he squeeled, waving his arms frantically. 

When she the fear in his eye, she lowered the gun and stared coldly. She allowed Queen's heartrate to slacken before asking the next question. 

"Do you know who does?" 

"I know who might," Queen said. "The guy who sent Estevez to talk to me. Qing He, I think his name was. He paid the upfront cash Double-E delivered at our meeting. He runs one of the lower level divisions of the Syndie, at least that's what he does after he got the blame for Estevez's separation. I hear he deals in 'protection services', and a few other chump change business deals." 

"Where can I find him?" 

"Mars," he said. "Don't think he's in Tharsis no more, so I wouldn't go lookin' for 'im there." 

"But he's definitely on Mars?" asked Ed. 

"He's got no reason to go anywhere else," Queen reckoned. 

Edward took a few seconds to consider the reliability of the information. She turned to Crey for some sort of confirmation of her suspicions, but all she got from him was a shrug that said, "It's your call." 

She turned back to Queen and held out the gun. 

"If I find out you're lying to me..." 

She aimed at the floor, and shot a single slug at the lifless jaw still sitting on the floor. The impact sent the device flipping several feet into the air. It landed with another THUNK! and rolled over, revealing the bullet lodged into the surface. 

"...Word of mouth will not be pleasant," she finished. 

With that, she pocketed the gun and walked out the door. Crey stared at the jaw again, then looked up at the traumatized cyborg. 

"Have a nice day," Crey said dim-wittedly. 

He dashed out before Queen could have the chance to try and hurt him again, and he caught up to Edward down the hall.

********

"So have we learned anything yet, music man?" 

"For one thing, I learned you don't give a guy enough of a chance," Crey said, following Edward out the front door. 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked. 

"If you hadn't walked in on us, I'd have had that situation well in hand, despite what you may think," he contended. 

"I think you were about to get your butt handed to you," Edward taunted. 

"Y'know, that nerve cable in the throat wasn't the only weak spot on him," he said. "Anybody the least bit familiar with that type of technology knows where to strike." 

"Okay, astonish me," she challenged, turning to face her verbal adversary. "Where would you have hit him?" 

"Well, for a guy with that amount of metal wrapped around him, the weak points are little hard to get to, but if you hit 'em just right, he isn't much more than a scrap heap with a brain," Crey explained. "For example, the arms. Since the left one is all artificial, it'd have a nerve cable running through it similar to the one in the throat. When he bends his arms, the elbow area becomes exposed, and a well-placed knife edge, or better yet a gunshot to that area would snap it in two and disable both arms." 

Edward halted. She never even considered any of that. 

"Furthermore," he continued, "there's another nerve in his right leg then starts just about in the middle of his calf. When he bends the knee, the plug that cable connects to gets exposed, and again, a good knife or gunshot will separate the cable from its plug. It's even harder to aim for than the throat or the arms, but it pretty much immobilizes him from the waist down if you hit the bullseye." 

He undoubtedly knew exactly what he was talking about. Ed was impressed, especially upon realizing just how much she'd underestimated him in this scenario. 

"That's the thing about black market cyberntics," he said. "For the money he got paid to get the surgery, he couldn't quite get the five star treatment, so he went to a second-rate dealership. But however stronger he became, he couldn't afford suitable armor plating so that those weak spots aren't so easily taken advantage of." 

Ed ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. She really jumped the gun, all right. 

So he was hot _and_ he was smart. 

She shook it off again. Cripes, that was the second time she let that happen! 

"So have we learned anything yet, Miss Edward?" he asked. 

"I've learned I hate wise-asses," she callously answered. "So you can fight, and you can use your brain. I don't meet a whole lot of guys who do that, so that already sets you a level up on top of the rest. But a cowboy you are not." 

She turned and walked to RedTail. Crey growled and followed her, annoyed that he still hadn't convinced her anything. 

"Look, I'll be the first to admit that what happened in there wasn't exactly a prime example of my detective skills," he said in his own defense. "Not to mention becoming a bounty hunter wasn't my first choice in terms of job options. But there is plenty more ammunition in my cannon than--" 

"I have precisely zero interest in either your 'cannon' or its 'ammunition'," Edward sneered, complete with finger quotation marks. "I hope you've enjoyed having the shortest bounty hunting career in history, and if you ever play Summerfest over on Earth, maybe I'll see you around." 

She opened up RedTail's hatch and hopped up onto the edge of the pilot's seat, letting her legs dangle out the side of the cockpit. As she started pressing buttons on the dashboard, Crey, feeling more insulted than ever, ran around the craft and confronted her from the ground. 

"I came here on the trail of a killer," he proclaimed. "And now that that trail just got warmer, I'm not lettin' it go!" 

Ed groaned in disgust and rolled her eyes. 

"Do yourself a favor, DeSanto," she preached, using the ideal like-I-give-a-shit tone of voice. "Go back to Fatty's and play a few more shows. Go on tour with the band. Put out some albums. Hook up with some big-breasted groupie who dyes her hair black and doesn't wear a bra. Anything but continue this absurd quest of yours. It's more than obvious to me you don't know what you're getting into, and you don't even have a sound enough reason to try. I mean, why are you searching for Estevez? For the money? For the fame of being the guy who caught him? Money doesn't last, and fame goes away even quicker. Go live yourself a life, Crey, because this business sure as hell isn't one. I mean, go give your mother a call, for Christ's sake! I bet she's worried sick about you." 

"Would if I could," he replied. "She's been dead six years." 

Edward nearly shot herself in the temple for her stupidity. However, she swallowed her embarrassment and maintained her emotionless composure. 

"Well, do you have any other family?" she asked. "A brother, a sister?" 

Crey nodded. "A brother." 

"So why don't you go pay him a visit?" 

"Because it ain't that much fun talkin' to a tombstone," he answered. "Erik Estevez murdered gim three years ago." 

This time, Ed could not stay impartial. There were no snide remarks or witty bits of sarcasm. Now, all Edward felt was anger at herself for being so inconsiderate. She tried to second-guess this misunderstood man a total of three times now, and she failed on all counts. Not only did he have a pretty good reason, but he'd been on the trail two years longer. 

Looking over at her dashboard, she saw the computer desktop loaded up, and the contents of Jet's disk on display. She opened the list of charges and sifted through it to acts commited in the year 2075. Sure enough, almost at the top of that list was the following: 

VICTIM NAME: Jeremiah DeSanto 

AGE: 22 

LOCATION: Greensboro, North Carolina 

"Appearantly, we grew up in the same neighborhood as Double-E," Crey recounted. "He must have been on some sort of homecoming when Jeremiah wandered into his backyard chasing after a neighbor's cat. I heard a yell, then I heard a gun go off. When I ran in, I saw Estevez walking away, right before I saw my brother's body staining the grass red. Psycho even went and killed the cat too." 

Edward sighed, closed her eyes, and rest her head against the dash. 

"Dammit." 

"Well hey, don't go feeling guilty for anything," Crey said, sounding genuinely forgiving. "You didn't know any of that. And I wasn't really candid about my motivations, now was I?" 

Ed looked up and stared into empty space. Something about the mention of a deceased sibling brought to mind her own purpose for seeking the killer. 

"So you've heard my story," he noted. "What's yours? Why are you after Double-E?" 

She snapped out of whatever internal monologues were running through her mind, turned to him with a stone cold glare and snapped, "None of your damn business." 

Crey's calm demeanor was instantly washed away. 

"You know what? Fine!" he reviled. "You don't want my help, I'm sick of offering it! Guess what you said is true; every bounty hunter for themselves, right? Well you're more than willing to uphold that principle, so who the hell am I to question the master!? You, the undisputed champion! Queen of the world! Well what, and might I add, ever." 

He stormed over to the other side of the cockpit, opened the door, and snatched his guitar from the passenger's seat. Slinging it over his shoulder, he steamed off in the opposite direction, muttering a few wishy-washy curses under his breath. 

Edward watched him for a moment, then jumped out of the seat and chased after him. 

"Hey, Crey! Wait a second, will ya!?" 

He stopped and glowered back at her. 

"Look," she said after catching up with him. "First impressions already went down the hole, and second chances haven't gone much better either. Now I'm sorry about what I said before. I guess I picked up a few of an old friend's less charming personality traits, and I just picked a really bad time to start using them...and I'm sorry as hell about your brother too." 

"I'm not looking for anybody's sympathy," he said, starting to turn away. 

She grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back around. 

"Let me finish," she ordered. "I realize I misjudged you based on what happened at Fatty's and over here. Which is why...and God only knows why I'm saying this...why I'm willing to let you strut your stuff one more time." 

He squinted at her as if to say, "Huh?" 

"What would you say..." she proceeded, unsure of the right way to express herself. "What would you say to...a gentleman's agreement of sorts?" 

Crey cocked his head reflectively. "I would think you'd have to be a gentleman before you could make a gentleman's agreement." 

"Oh for--" she swore. "You're not honestly going to start a gender debate over this, are you?" 

"Actually, I was talking about myself," he joked. "What exactly would this 'gentleman's agreement' consist of?" 

"Both of us want Erik Estevez," she unfolded. "More importantly, we want him dead. We both have reasons, we both have our methods, and I may just be guessing, but we both have a few skills we haven't shown each other yet. What would you say to...a pooling of our assets, so to speak?" 

Crey lifted his head in acknowledgement. "Go on." 

"From this point on, you and I can be partners," Edward said. "We do this together. Whatever I find out, you're the first to know, and vice versa. Whatever this big pattern is that Estevez is following, we find out what it is, and we close in on him." 

"And then we take him out," he finished, enthusiastic of the notion. 

"Well, that's where we'll make this a little more interesting," Edward said, smiling. "In terms of finding Estevez, you and I are partners. However, when it comes to actually pulling the trigger, that's when it becomes every hunter for themselves. There's only one of him, and it's first come, first served. And whoever gets him, gets the boasting rights." Her tone darkened as she finished. "And as much as I sympathize for your reasons, I'm not going to let anyone but me have the pleasure of ending his sorry life." 

Crey measured her proposal carefully, and he started nodding in agreement. 

"Sounds like fun." 

"So..." Edward said. "What do you say you and I start over?" 

She extended her hand in friendship. 

"Partners?" 

Crey grinned and grabbed hold of her hand, shaking it firmly. 

"Partners."   
  
  


**_THIS GUN'S FOR HIRE..._**


	4. Mysterious Ways

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 4:**  
**_Mysterious Ways_**  


Somewhere in the universe... 

Another dull night on the graveyard shift. 

Max yawned. It was the seventh time in the last hour he'd done that. He was getting a little too used to it happening. 

"Why the hell did I ever take this stupid job?" he whined to himself. 

Because you need the money, you idiot, his mind told him. And that was the bottom line. He did need the money, and he was just qualified enough to be useful in this position. Being a security guard couldn't have been the single worst thing he could be doing for a living, but with this much nightly boredom, it was certainly a number one contender for that championship. All the job really took was truckloads of patience, which is easy to have if nothing unusual ever happens. And besides, if he stayed there long enough, he might just get a promotion. 

Yeah, that's the same friggin' thing he told himself when he was hired ten years ago. 

He put his hatred for dull employment aside and realized things could be much worse. He let his memory take him back to the day he got the job, and he saw the ecstatic expression on his wife's face, for she was just as happy as he was that they finally wouldn't be dead broke anymore. And that certainly held true the last ten years, boredom or not. 

Oh, forget it. All the reassuring in the world couldn't make up for the fact that he had absolutely nothing to do. This security detail was useless. After all, what could anybody possibly want with an asteroid-mounted communications satellite? All the stupid thing did was help transmit phone calls and internet connections between Mars and Jupiter. Sounded like a strange thing to try and tamper with, if you asked him. 

But, nobody did ask Max. It wasn't his job to make assumptions about human nature. All he was hired to do was make sure nobody tried to get through the entrance after hours, unless of course they had authorization. 

He sat back in his seat and stared blankly at the multiple surveillance monitors. 

Zzzzz......zzzzz......zzzzz...... 

A sound woke Max up with a jump. Crap, he hoped he wasn't sleeping long. 

He looked at his watch. Okay, good...he was only asleep for about a minute. 

He took a look around his area, attempting to determine where that strange sound came from. He didn't see anything behind the perimeter fence, and he didn't see anyone outside the building he was stationed in front of. 

The building itself was nothing but a simple rectangular solid shape, ten floors high. A single door was placed at the front of the building, and the rest of the surface was adorned with nothing more than a grid of small, dusty windows. Directly above the building, however, was the impressive sight. First there was a titanium alloy rigging set up for extra support, and then perfectly balanced atop it was the satellite, a hundred-foot-wide dish with a fifty-foot-tall antenna sticking straight upward, like a fork stuck in the middle of an oversized salad bowl. 

Max shook his head. Must have been the wind. 

Just then, the front door swung open, and a dark figure walked out onto the lot. 

Max watched the figure carefully, and at first he thought it might be one the satellite technicians. However, as the figure came a little closer, Max saw he was wearing a long, black leather coat, and had long blonde hair. Max knew each and every person who worked in that building at this time of night, and he was certain that none of them wore a leather coat or had blonde hair...especially not hair that was dyed strange colors on one side. 

Wait a minute...that description sounded familiar. 

He picked up his loudspeaker and addressed the departing person: 

"Hey!...Hey, you in the coat! Do have authorization to be here!?" 

The figure stopped in his tracks, and slowly picked his head up and stared at the little man in his booth. Even at that distance and through the window, Max could see a pair of bluish-gray eyes, and evil-looking ones at that. That alone was enough to frighten him. 

Then the bomb went off. 

With a eardrum-bursting explosion, the windows on all sides of the building shattered as clouds of flame shot outwards from inside. The door too was blown straight off its hinges, and sent sailing about twenty feet in the air before stabbing itself in the ground. 

Another explosion went off on the top floor of the building, and a massive cloud of flaming fog went upwards through the rooftop. The explosion itself destroyed half of the titanium rigging, and the rising flames slowly melted the rest. But without the support of the rigging that had already been annihilated, the weight of the satellite could not be properly held. It slowly tipped over onto its side, and crashed down upon the building underneath it, crushing the structure like a hollow egg shell. The antenna too toppled over, snapping off from its base and splitting into multiple pieces against the ground. 

Max got up off the floor of his booth and took a horrified look at the demolition. And in front of it all, the mysterious blonde was still standing there, now with a sinister grin on his face. 

He saw the phone knocked off hook, lying on the ground a few feet away. He dived for it, dialed a few buttons, and desperately waited for someone to pick up. 

"ISSP!?" he called. "This is Max Sheldon at the satellite building! Some madman has just blown the place sky high!...No, I'm not kidding, god dammit! The place is burning, the satellite is destroyed, and there's this guy standing in the middle of the lot looking like he just got possessed by the devil himself! I think it's that Double-E guy!...Yeah, Erik Estevez, him! Get over here, now!" 

He shut off the phone and drew his gun as he rose to his feet. He ran out the door and turned in the direction of the saboteur, pointing his gun out at him. 

He never got the chance to fire, unfortunately, for as soon as he turned, he felt something cold jab itself into his stomach, and he felt blood spilling out upon his clothing. He looked to his side, and there was Erik Estevez, holding his silver cigarette lighter in one hand, the switchblade it contained extended and buried in Max's bloated gut. 

With a quick motion, he ran the blade a few inches up Max's torso. Max let out a sickening "Urk!", and a sloppy mass of blood ran up his throat and flooded out his mouth. Estevez withdrew the blade and let poor Max drop face-first onto the ground. 

As he walked away from his violent handiwork, he took a cancer stick from his pocket, stuck the filter in his mouth, and lit up the other end with the blood-coated lighter. 

"Just a few more..." he mumbled.

********

The long yellow streaks of light whizzed past the pitch black backdrop of space like a thousand desolate midnight highways. Each streak sprayed from a golden yellow disc of light that glowed from the opposite side of the interplanetary tunnel. For some, staring too long at the streaks could cause severe nausea, and staring at the light could cause temporary blindness. Edward took a great deal of pride in being one of those immune to hyperspace travel's ill side effects. 

The inside of the tunnel was something that made Edward really love the world in which she lived. In the present time, and especially in her field of computer technology, science was revered and worshipped just as much if not more than any deity or other admired religious figure. It was almost like mankind felt it was their obligation, their holy birthright to never stop advancing. The first step was of course to "reach for the stars". The stars had been reached and conquered. So now what? They keep going, duh. The only downside to these beliefs was that when they made an advancement and moved on, they saw that past accomplishment as little more than just that - a past event. Another step in the road. Another brick in the wall. That's what split the universal populace apart in some ways. While a scientist would describe the yellow streaking as just the refraction of light thanks to the bending of the space-time continuum, a truly learned individual would call it, "a show the stars put on for free." 

At least that's how Edward looked at it. 

To see the beauty in both science and nature was a value she learned very early on, and one she would never, ever forget. 

Unfortunately, if that was the only means of entertaining oneself during an excruciatingly long hyperspace trip, things inevitably got pretty freaking dull. 

No roasted peanuts, no in-flight movie...Edward would even have tolerated that crappy airline food they serve. However, none of these luxuries were at her disposal, so that left only one viable option, dreadful as it seemed - the killing of time through conversation with her unwanted traveling companion. 

"So..." she began. "What else do you do outside of blues clubs and picking locks?" 

She had no earthly idea why she was resorting to this, or why she would even feign interest in Crey DeSanto's personal or professional life. But things had been silent in RedTail's cockpit the last seven hours straight, and it was a well-known fact that humans could literally go insane without even minimal background noise. Radio transmissions could not travel through deep hyperspace, and apparently Crey was not in the mood to practice his guitar, which sat in his hands ready to be played despite it being unused. 

Crey must have been dozing when Edward spoke up, for his first response was the opening of one eye, which he blinked twice before drowsily focusing it on her. 

"Why you ask?" he replied. 

"I am gonna be working with you," she said. "I might as well know who I'm dealing with." 

Translation: "I'm bored. What the hell else am I supposed to do?" 

Crey took his feet off the dashboard and sat up in his seat, bending over to stretch his back and shoulders. He sat back and yawned, then rubbed his eyelids. 

"Well, I mostly deal in entertainment," he said. "Aside from that, I had to learn a few tricks to work my way through school. Been known to forge a few legal documents, get some unlicensed funds, that sort of thing. Piddly stuff ISSP doesn't give a shit about. I'm just lucky tuition on Earth is so cheap, or I'd have never gone. Majored in the arts, of course. But outside of class, I developed a particular taste for mechanical engineering." 

"What kind of engineering?" Edward asked, this time quite interested. 

Crey smugly answered, "The kind they don't teach at MIT." 

"Oh, I can't wait to see this," she sarcastically remarked. "Anything else I ought to know about?" 

"Well, I do partake in a little web hacking now and then." 

Ed's interest really started to soar now. 

"I don't do anything major like crack into restricted government servers or anything, but I think I've managed to get pretty good with a keyboard." 

"Ah, so playing that six-string makes those hands good at something other than breaking into people's ships," Ed joked, now very curious about Crey's background, especially now she knew he was a kindred spirit when it came to surfing a web proxy. "What's your handle?" 

Crey opened both eyes and arched a brow. 

"What's yours?" 

Damn. He may have been bluffing before, but now Edward was getting the distinct feeling that Crey was already very knowledgeable with her past, despite her diligent attempts to keep it a secret from just about everyone. She had to admit, it was partially her own fault. If he didn't know the truth before, his suspicions must have been fed when she told him her name. After all, a girl named Edward is a rarity itself, and there's a certain other well-known Edward who makes just as few public appearances. She should have known he was smart enough to put two and two together. 

Screw it, she thought. Let's play around a little more. 

"Who even said I was a hacker?" she asked. 

"Don't go playin' that game again!" he rebelled. "I saw you working that keyboard back on Ganymede. You were typing one-handed and you were moving too fast and too precisely for you not to be a hacker of some kind. Now I've been coming plenty clean with you from the get-go. The least I deserve is some of the same service from you, lady!" 

He was getting a bit too persistent for Edward's taste, but she had to admire his detective skills. Besides, he pretty much hit the nail right on the head, so why not give him the benefit of the doubt this time? 

_Because you're smarter than that_, a voice in her mind answered. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she insisted. 

Crey reclined again, smirking. "Suuuuure you don't..." he said. 

"So what about yours?" Edward repeated. "C'mon, I asked you first anyway." 

"That you did," he accepted. "I actually have a bunch of different names, depending on where I go, but mostly...and come to think of it, I haven't used this one in a long while...Most often I just go by the name of 'The Unknown Bounty'." 

Upon hearing the title, Edward's eyes popped and she stopped moving entirely. 

"I know," Crey chuckled as he saw her expression. "It does sound pretty stupid, doesn't it?" 

But it was more than that. Oh, it was so much more than that. Edward's mouth hung slightly open, and her right eye began to twitch ever so slightly. Something about that net name struck her right in her very core, and very much not in a good way. It made everything around her disappear, as she was instantaneously swept into a black hole of mental being. It was like her psyche shattered simply at the mention of... 

That name... she thought. That....name.... 

All of a sudden, a random series of crackling sounds started spewing from the speakers. Edward snapped out of her trance as all attention turned to the dash. She hadn't remembered leaving the radio on, but it would seem she did, for after a few seconds of prolonged static, actual human voices were starting to come through. 

"We must be getting close to Mars now," Crey deduced. 

"Looks like it," Edward agreed. "Let's see if we can get some clarity here." 

She began fidgeting with the dials on the radio display, trying to find a station that could provide some discernable dialogue, without or without the grandeur of crystal clarity. She knew there was a radio tower very close to the Mars/Jupiter gateway, so she knew if she could just turn up its frequency, they might be able to... 

Bingo. It was still scratchy, but a clear enough sound was coming through. A newscaster was apparently in the middle of a frantic breaking story. 

"Yo, turn it up, this sounds important," Crey requested. 

Doing as he asked, Edward hit the proper button. 

"...struck again!...I repeat," the newscaster exclaimed, "the notorious Erik 'Double-E' Estevez has struck again! Incoming reports claim he was seen boarding a outgoing transport from Asteroid AM-1290, just shortly after the communication satellite located there was destroyed in a fiery blaze! ISSP has issued the following statement: 'Several employees of the facility were found dead, and the lone survivor, a security guard, has confirmed that Estevez left the building moments before the explosion.' ISSP has not released the names of either the victims or the survivor, who is reportedly now in intensive care..." 

"Son of a bitch!" Edward cursed. "I hope this doesn't mean our lead is outdated." 

"Well, we'll never know till we get there," Crey assured her. 

"I guess," she ruminated. "We'll be in Tharsis in about forty minutes, so--" 

"Wait, didn't Hev say that Qing He isn't in Tharsis?" Crey interrupted. "What's the point in goin' there if he ain't there to be found?" 

She turned to him with a look that screamed, "Are you that fucking stupid?" 

"Mars is a big planet," she said. "There are countless places Qing He could be hiding. If we don't try and pinpoint a location, we'll be searching aimlessly for months. Besides, the Syndicate operates out of Tharsis, so if anybody knows where he is now, that's where we can find them." 

"Well, I hope you're on good terms with somebody in the Syndicate, 'cause I'm sure as hell not. Outside of that slim possibility, the only other option is to walk into their office and say, 'Hey, you seen this sorry sack around here anywhere?' I've kept my encounters with the Dragons pretty limited thus far, but I'm fairly certain the common term for a move like that is...oh, I dunno...SUICIDE!" 

"Of course we're not gonna just walk in and ask, Dummkopf!" she snapped. "Hev said Qing used to be a pretty important guy in the Syndicate. If that's true, somebody must have heard his name and might have heard something important. Something you wouldn't say to ISSP." 

"But they would say it to a mismatched pair of bounty hunters?" Crey grilled. 

"The Martian division of ISSP is in the Syndie's pocket," Edward explained. "Anything they hear goes straight to the Syndicate's ears, especially if it's something that shouldn't have been said. We don't have ties to either side, and they don't think of us as that big a threat anyhow. That's the major blessing of being a bounty hunter; you don't get to have a lot of friends, but at least that makes you more certain of who your enemies are." 

"I suppose so..." he consented. 

"Besides, we don't even have to find someone in the Syndicate," she continued, "but just someone who's had ties to them in the past. Maybe some dumb schmuck they hired to run a shipping job, like Hev." 

Crey slowly cracked a wide smile. 

"Or someone they might hire on a regular basis?" 

Edward turned to him quizzically. "You got someone in mind?" 

"Oh, I got someone in mind, all right," he said, relaxing himself. "Ever hear the name Billy Molrich?" 

"Can't say I have." 

"They call him 'Mole', and for good reason," Crey specified. "That's just what he is - an informant, a stool pigeon. More than that, he's a free agent. He'll work for anybody who pays the right price, or issues a severe enough threat on his life. Remember when ISSP tried to pull a bust on one the Syndie's drug warehouses?" 

Edward nodded yes. 

"And remember when the Syndie tried to blow up the ISSP headquarters on Ganymede when the captain refused to be bought?" 

Ed nodded again. 

"Mole tipped off the Syndicate to the drug bust, and he tipped ISSP to the bomb. Syndie still has its drugs, and Ganymede still has its police station." 

"How is even still alive if he works both sides of the map?" she asked. 

"Another reason why they call him Mole," Crey said. "Once he does his job, he digs a hole and disappears so nobody knows it was him. He's an expert at covering his tracks. He's gotten his name and face changed about a dozen times since he started being a snitch. That, and both ISSP and the Syndicate know he's too damn valuable to get rid of." 

"If he's that good, how do you know the truth about him?" 

"About two years ago, I made a cool two million woolongs thanks to some info I bullied out of him," he recollected. "Since then, I've made sure to keep my eye on his records, just in case I'd ever need his services again." 

"And what makes you think he knows about Qing He?" 

"The last thing he was hired to do was try and find out why Estevez broke his contract with the Syndie last year. He was recruited by Qing He, he tried for about two months, but then he almost got hacked to bits when Double-E caught onto him, so he quit the job, gave back the money they paid him, and word has it he was in the room when the Syndicate leaders stuck it to Qing He. If he doesn't know where Qing is now, he's either got the attention span of a fruit fly or he's as sloppy a liar as I am a drunk. Either way, we oughta make him our first stop. And after he turned down the Estevez job, those bastards wouldn't think of letting him leave the city, let alone the planet, so you can be sure he's still in the same place. Mole may be good at what he does, but he's got all the fortitude of a three-year-old. That'll just make getting what we want from him all the easier." 

He made himself comfortable once again, and with his guitar still resting in his hands, he closed his eyes and started to drift off. 

"Do me a favor," he invoked. "Wake me up when we get there." 

As he almost instantly went back to sleep, Edward stared at him curiously. 

Peculiar, yes. Offbeat, yes. Unique, oh hell yes. But if anything, she could tell this was going to be one intriguing experience. 

She leaned back and relaxed herself, and mentally quoted a self-taught lesson that fit the circumstances surprisingly well: 

"If you see a stranger, follow him..." 

********

Passing through the gateway was easy. Paying the 7800 woolong passage fee was easy. Finding the city of Tharsis was incredibly easy. 

Finding a place to park...that was the hard part. 

Public lots were constantly full to the brim, lots that charged by the hour were horridly constructed and overpriced to boot, and the streets were too narrow for a craft of RedTail's size to land and not be in somebody's way. Anyway one looked at it, there were few places to park where you wouldn't have to pay or you wouldn't get a ticket. While paying the hourly rate was well within Edward's price range, she still considered it the equivalent of highway robbery. And while hacking in and erasing the records of a ticket was child's play, she felt it was just a little too dishonest for her standards, not to mention a bit extreme. Wasting the bandwidth for a parking violation? Feh. 

Unfortunately, since leaving RedTail afloat in orbit was out of the question, she figured she might as well pay by the hour. What's a little highway robbery anyway? 

"If we don't find anything here, you are so paying half the bill," she warned Crey. 

"Gotcha." 

They headed down the street from the parking complex, toward a jungle of condos, office buildings, and other sky-high structures. Crey stepped in front to lead the way, and with no argument from Edward, since he obviously knew where to go. At least that's what Crey assumed when he took leadership and heard no complaints. However, when he turned to see if Ed was keeping up, he realized she couldn't complain because she was nowhere near him. Instead Crey saw her about fifty feet behind him, inside a roadside phone booth. 

When he doubled back to her, he watched as she pulled from her knapsack a long cylindrical object with a electric cord coming out the side that was clamped onto what looked like a credit card. She slide the card into the pay phone's charge slot, and about halfway through it, another clamp opened up and secured the device to the rim. 

The video screen turned blank white, a thin line of light radiated along with length of the cylinder, and from it a holographic computer keyboard popped up into the air. At the same time she plugged the the cord on her goggles into the other side of the cylinder. The lenses lit up from inside and she slipped them over her eyes. 

"Thought you said you weren't a hacker," said Crey. 

"This is standard web searching equipment," she corrected him. "Any experienced bounty hunter has this kind of stuff on hand for plugging into a system for data that isn't up for grabs on the internet. Besides, all I did was ask was said I was a hacker. I never said I wasn't." 

"Semantics," he grumbled. "May I ask what you're doing?" 

"Finding our target, estupido," she answered as she typed away. "We need to know where Mole is hiding, so I'm running a search of the phone database to find the right guy. What name is he using these days?" 

"Uh, last I checked, it was Clyde Stubbs," he said. "But Ed, I think you might wanna--" 

"All right, Clyde Stubbs. I'm on it." 

"Ed..." 

"I'm working here." 

"Edward..." 

"I said I'm working, Crey." 

"Edward, I--" 

"Would you chill out, please!? I've almost got him!" 

She was finally able to give him her full attention when he suddenly yelled into her left ear:

_ "EDWARD!"_

She hunched over and cringed at the instant blast of decibels coming into the side of her head, then she swerved in Crey's direction, removed her goggles, and glared murderously at him. 

"What!?" 

He leaned in nice and close, then pointed off in another direction. 

"He lives right over there!" he snapped back. 

They remained frozen a moment. Edward followed his directing gesture, and saw in that direction a small apartment building wedged in between a restaurant and a postal service. She heard a beep coming from her hacking gear, to which she turned and saw printed on the video screen the name "Clyde Stubbs", accompanied by an address and phone number. She looked back at the apartment building, took note of its address, and compared it with the one on the screen. They matched perfectly. 

She faced Crey again, whose expression asked point blank, "Now who's the idiot?" 

With that, she shut off and disconnected her equipment, stuffed it back inside her knapsack, then exited the phone booth and started walking to the apartment building. When she realized Crey wasn't with her, she rotated to the booth, where Crey remained, still scowling, still watching her. 

"You comin' or what!?" she demanded. 

********

The second she kicked in the door to apartment 506, Edward could tell Crey was correct. The first thing she saw upon entering was a man, a low-statured, stout little bugger with arms and legs that looked like they had been plucked off a dachshund hound. Virtually no neck was visible, and his head was just as plump as the rest of him. He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that poorly hid his beady eyes, and had a scraggly arrangement of facial hair that poorly hid the buck teeth jutting out from underneath his upper lip. 

No wonder he was called a mole. The guy just looked like a rodent. 

The little man was startled by Edward's loud entrance, and in defense he hugged his arms around his desk to hide whatever he was working on, which was a futile action considering his entire apartment was littered with electronic equipment; surveillance cameras, tape recorders, long-distance hearing devices, phone bugs, and other various pieces of junk that he obviously used for his spying profession. 

"Wha-wha-want do you want!?" he screeched. 

Ed stepped out of the doorway and bowed to the man about to enter, her arms out as if formally presenting the newcomer. 

In walked Crey, smiling at the sight of the mite's obvious terror. 

"Hey there, Billy," he said. "Been a while." 

Billy Molrich, aka Clyde Stubss, aka Mole turned white as a ghost. 

"Oh...uh...oh oh...H-Hello, Mr. DeSanto," he stuttered. "Wha-wha-what can I d-d-d-do for you today?" 

"Now what makes you think I came here for anything, Moleman?" Crey asked, as he stuck his hand inside his pocket and started shuffling it around, like he was searching for something in particular. "How do you know I didn't just come here to say hello? See how you've been? See what kind of new techniques you've been using?" 

Mole grew even more frantic as Crey pocketed his hand, and even more so when it looked like he'd found what he was fishing around for. 

Meanwhile, Ed has no idea what to make of any of this. 

"I've heard you haven't been that busy lately, bud," Crey continued. "Especially after that whole fiasco with a certain psychopathic killer-slash-industrial saboteur, ain't that right?" 

"I-I-I-I-I don't what you're talkin' about," Mole replied. 

"Oh, I think you do..." Crey said, as she began to pull his hand out of his pocket. 

Mole started to whine like a bathroom-deprived dog, and he tremored like there was a squirrel in his drawers. 

Ed looked over at Crey's hand after he removed it from his pants, and in it she saw a small black object; it was about an inch long, and it was shaped like one of those cold capsules you could get at any drugstore, but this was obviously made out of some sort of metal, and meticulously so at that. Crey juggled the capsule in his fingers, then started flicking it up into the air and catching it with same hand, only to repeat the act. Mole locked his eyes on the object, wishing he could just jump out the window if it didn't mean a painful death. 

"Your ex-employer, Qing He," Crey dictated. "Where's he at?" 

"I du-du-du-du-dunno!" Mole cried. "Haven't heard from him in months! Good riddance too!" 

"Oh, I agree, but I still think you know where to find him," he returned. "Now where's he at?" 

"I-I-I-I told you, I dunno!" Mole said. 

Crey suddenly stopped tossing the capsule. He caught it on its last fall, then simply closed his hand around it. Mole kept watching the hand like he expected it to suddenly launch into his face. 

"Now, Mole, do you want a recreation of what happened the last time I asked for you something and you said no?" Crey asked, cold as gargoyle. 

Mole straightened like a board and screamed. 

"MEMPHIS!" he bawled. "Qing He is in Memphis! It's four cities to the west! You can't miss it!" 

Crey narrowed his gaze and kept staring. 

"It's the truth, I swear to God!" 

Crey's mood swiftly brightened again, and he smiled and winked to the scared little man. 

"Thanks, bud," he said. 

He batted up his hand and tossed the capsule into the air again, this time aiming its downward descent so it would land in Mole's hands. On reflex, Mole did just that, but not without a pig-like squeal of panic. 

"See you 'round," Crey finished. 

He turned and walked out the door, with a confused Edward close behind. 

Upon leaving the building, she could not help but ask: 

"And what was that all about?" 

"What?" 

"You know what," she said. "That thing in there with that black pill. What the hell is that? And why was Mole so pissed-scared of it?" 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another black capsule, but this one was different; it had a red stripe along the middle of it. 

"This, my lovely friend, is the kind of mechanical engineering they don't teach at MIT," he said. 

Ed raised a brow. "Care to elaborate?" 

"It's a funny story, really," he said, self-amused. "I actually came upon this by accident. See, I was playing with this small time band while I was in college. I was looking for a way to make a really small amplifier for my guitar, so I wouldn't have to go lugging this big trunk-sized black box around with me wherever I went. So I was in this workshop, right? I thought I had everything figured out, and I had it all packed inside this little lunchbox. I closed it up, I turned it on, and boom. There's a hole in the wall the size of Rhode Island." 

"So you were just a little off on your mark, huh?" Edward asked, finding the thought quite humorous. 

"Oh, I was on the mark, all right," he proceeded. "Just not for an amplifier. But I kept the schematics from the project and I kept working on them. I worked day and night, almost flunked three of my classes in the process too, until I knew for certain I had perfected it. I minimized the packaging, of course, and this was the result." 

He tossed the capsule to her, and she caught and examined the device. 

"How do you set it off?" she asked. 

Crey grabbed some of the tape covering his right hand, and he pulled it back to reveal, wrapped around his palm, a wire-thin detonation device, with a flat panel that Edward could only guess was that little button that everybody always told you never, ever to push. 

"Two taps on this thing, and that red striped one there has as much boom-boom as a teaspoon of C4," he explained. 

Edward yelped and threw it back at him. 

"Relax," he groaned, while he put the tape back over the switch. "I assure you, I'm quite careful with these things. All of them." 

"Just how many do you have?" she inquired. 

He reached into his pocket again and pulled out three more of the capsules, each one designed with a different colored stripe; four in all, they were colored red, yellow, green, and white. 

"The red one is of course a bomb," he explained, pointing to each color as he specified their purpose. "The yellow one is a heating device. You turn it on, the surface temperature instantly becomes 150° F. Perfect for a giving a guy a first-class hot foot. The green one is a acid caplet. I usually use these for more complicated locks that take a little more than a bobby pin. And the white one here is a flash bomb; you throw it in someone's face, you blind 'em for a few seconds. Works pretty well if you need to make a quick getaway, or if you wanna deliver a knockout blow. Whatever floats for your boat." 

"Incredible," she commended. "I've never seen anything like this before. Wait, what about that all-black one you handed to Mole?" 

"Oh, that? That was a dud. It pops open and you get a 'Bang!' flag. I save those for April Fool's Day." 

To demonstrate, he trapped his palm twice to activate the capsule. 

All of a sudden, what sounded like a gunshot rang out above their heads, and the windows in the apartments shattered simultaneously. The glass flew out sideways for several feet, then plummeted to the ground in a reflective shower of shards. A second later, the windows crackled in the cars parked near where Ed and Crey were standing, and a couple car alarms went off. 

Crey winced as she turned around and saw the destruction he'd unwittingly caused. In the window of apartment 506, Mole poked his head out and started ranting and raving in pure rage, while the leftover pieces of his broken glasses fell from his head and hit the pavement below. 

"Ooooooh, damn!" Crey vexed. "That one must have had a gray stripe on it!" 

"And what's the gray stripe mean?" asked Ed, no longer impressed with the technology, but annoyed and at the same slightly amused by his carelessness. 

"Basically, it's a short-range sonic boom," he said. 

"Nice," she frigidly remarked. "To Memphis?" 

Crey pointed his arm out in the proper heading. "To Memphis!"

********

The Martian colony of Memphis was a decidedly different city from Tharsis. While Tharsis was a sprawling metropolis, Memphis was much more like the kind of small town one saw in the movie "Gremlins". There was the residential district, the school grounds, and the quintessential main street where most of the city's business was conducted; few of the buildings were more than one story high, the storefronts had big wide windows that tantalized the passerby with its merchandise, and just for a little extra garnish, one or two of them had some old guy in an apron sweeping up the front stoop. It was the kind of city where automobile travel was considered second rate compared to good old fashioned walking. 

No wonder Qing He was demoted to working this town. For a once highly respected member of the Syndicate, it was a cold hard slap in the face. 

Edward and Crey strolled along the main street together, taking a few odd looks from the townsfolk as these two outrageously-dressed newcomers wandered along their sidewalk like it was no big deal. To avoid drawing too much attention, Edward buttoned up the front of her shirt and concealed her bikini top. 

"Now this is an environment I can handle," she sighed. "No skyscrapers, no bustling traffic, no rat race noise, none of those geeky little guys in Armani suits who have their cell phones glued to their ears..." 

"And most of all, plenty of free parking," Crey added. 

"Too true," she said. "I wish I'd grown up in a neighborhood like this. I was born in one of those 'ruination cities' back on Earth. I couldn't count the number of times I wanted to live in a place where at least the buildings were intact." 

"And you didn't have to worry about something big and rocky crashing down on your head...yeah, I've been there," Crey agreed. "I sort of did get raised in a place like this...I mean, after the Gate Accident, most of the original Greensboro was destroyed, so the people who survived packed up their stuff and set up a new town. They abandoned all the old 'big city' standards and went back to something simpler. You had a place to live, a place to go to school, a place to pray, and a place to buy your groceries, which in the long run is all you really need." 

"What about love?" Edward asked with a smirk. 

"Well, my mom always did say, 'Love is all you need'," he replied, obviously picking up on the musical reference. 

Ed took a moment to reconsider continuing the conversation with what she had in mind, and almost pondered forgetting it altogether, but eventually she gave in to her curiosity. 

"What was she like? Your mother, I mean." 

"She was no saint, I'll tell you that," Crey said freely. "She had a good few problems. Drank like a fish sometimes...got in trouble with the law a whole bunch when I was little...But when it really came down to it, she kept a pretty stable household. Raised a couple good strong kids. The dream of every mother, right?" 

Edward paused before replying. 

"I wouldn't know..." she said contritely. 

"Never knew yours?" Crey cautiously asked. 

"Never even met her," she stated. "When I finally worked up the balls to ask Dad where she was, he said she died giving birth, and never said a thing about her ever since. Said it was probably for the better anyway; don't sweat the small stuff, he said...on a place like Earth, all mothering does is make you soft, he said." 

"You believe any of that?" 

"Not for one bloody second," she spartanally declared. 

They came upon a large town square, where some sort of festival was taking place. This explained why the main street seemed so empty up to now, for it looked like every member of the community was gathered in the square for the big gig. There were countless rows of table covered with dishes of food, set up in perfect buffet style. In the middle of the square, a stage was set up where live music was played, however the band was obviously on break, since they were on stage but no music was coming from them. 

"You mind if I ask one other thing?" Crey queried. 

"Shoot," she said. 

"About how long you think those guys up on the rooftops have been watching us?" 

"I'd say pretty much since we got into town," Ed answered. 

"That's what I figured," he commented. "Betcha Mole thought he could win back some points by telling them we were coming. They better not be snipers." 

"If they were gonna drop us, they'd have tried by now," Edward assured him. "They're just here to watch." 

There were halfway through the square when Edward stopped. Crey stopped beside him as she nodded her head forward, nonphysically pointing to the opposite side of the plaza. Coming around a building corner were six men, dressed no more unusually than anybody else in town, but who for some inexplicable reason stood out just as much as Crey and Ed. It was something about the way they walked, the way they looked...and the way their leader trained them directly on the two bounty hunters. The leader himself was a tall Asian man with straight black hair shaved into a crew cut. Since he was the only the only Asian among them, assuming he was the legendary Qing He would not seem so impulsive a judgment. 

"Those guys are here to drop us," she finished. 

"Uh-huh..." said Crey. "Ummm...I think we might wanna get outta here." 

"Why?" she questioned, as she balled a fist inside her hand and cracked her knuckles. "We're here, they're here. I say we get the party started." 

"What, right here!?" 

"You got a better place in mind?" she asked indifferently. 

"I don't know, how about where nobody's gonna get hurt!?" he returned. 

"Oh, you can bet someone's gettin' hurt..." she said. 

"Ed, we can't start a fight here!" Crey pleaded. "A bar room in one thing, but none of these people did anything to deserve this! If we fight these guys now, a lot of people are gonna get hurt, or worse, killed! Those are Syndicate henchmen after all!" 

"I'm well aware," she replied, uninterested as ever. "If you're that concerned, try and draw the people away." 

"And how am I supposed to do that!?" 

"The hell should I know? Sing 'em a song for all I care." 

"Oh, and what could I possibly sing!?" 

"We're in Memphis, aren't we?" she reminded him. "Maybe they're Elvis fans." 

His next statement was going to be something to the effect of "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" However his speech halted as he suddenly recalled a few details about their surroundings he originally wrote off as minor and therefore inconsequential. 

He looked behind him, to the entrance of the square, where a large wooden slab was suspended from a street light. On the slab was engraved: 

WELCOME TO   
PRESLEY SQUARE

He faced front again and looked upward, where a banner was hung between the side of a nearby building and another street light. He took several steps back to read what was on it: 

ELVIS MEMORIAL FESTIVAL   
AUGUST 12-16

Finally, he looked over at the center of the square, toward the live stage. Over on the side, talking with a few of the townsfolk, was the lead singer, a somewhat pudgy individual who was dressed rather strangely; for one thing, his real hair was covered with a wig of slicked black hair, complete with fake sideburns. His clothing consisted of a white jumpsuit and matching boots, all adorned with multicolored rhinestones and other assorted jewels. Along with the gold chains around his neck and the flashy sunglasses over his eyes, this unmistakable impersonator was the spitting image of the man on honor. 

"I'll be god damned," Crey said to himself. "The King ain't so dead after all." 

As Edward continued to prep herself for the coming fight, Crey took off, weaving through the crowd as quickly as possible. He was about three quarters of the way to the stage when he realized he had left his guitar back in RedTail's cockpit. Who would have thought he'd need it so much now? Thankfully, as he passed through the last of the human obstacles and got a clear shot to the stage, he saw the lead's guitar resting there while the band was on their breather. 

He leaped up and stood on the stage, greeted by the surprised glances of the band. 

"You guys on break?" he panted. 

"What's it look like?" the drummer replied. 

"Look, I ain't got time to explain myself," Crey said, as she picked up the guitar and checked the strings. "All's I can say is, there's five thousand woolongs with each one of your names on it if you guys give me some music right now!" 

They band members mulled it over for a few seconds. Crey glanced back at Edward, and saw the six Syndicate men just starting to enter the crowd. He had to get this thing started soon or... 

The sounds of the band's agreement lifted his spirits. They took their places behind their instruments, and Crey took his behind the microphone. 

He played two thundering guitar strums, the famous opening notes of the song, which instantly got the attention of the crowd. The two starting notes were followed by a pair of drum beats. The two strums were repeated, as were the drum beats. That was Crey's cue to start singing:

_The warden threw a party in the county jail_  
_The prison band was there and they began to wail_  
_The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing_  
_You shoulda heard those knocked out jailbirds sing_

_Let's rock!_  
_Everybody, let's rock!_  
_Everybody in the whole cell block_  
_Was dancin' to the jailhouse rock_

The music got the crowd screaming with excitement, and they instantly flocked toward the stage and flooded around it. All eyes were on Crey as he performed. 

And as the audience found their impromptu entertainer, they left a wide open space at the side of the square, where Edward was still waiting. The six Syndicate men looked around in confusion as the crowd members around them suddenly disappeared, then they looked back at Edward, who smiled and raised her hands at them, flexing her fingers in "bring it on" fashion.

_Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone_  
_Little Joe was blowin' on the slide trombone_  
_The drummer boy from Illinois went CRASH BOOM BANG!_  
_The whole rhythm section was the Purple Gang_

_Let's rock!_  
_Everybody, let's rock!_  
_Everybody in the whole cell block_  
_Was dancin' to the jailhouse rock_

The leader of the group came at Edward first, taking a mean swing at her head. She ducked underneath and shot an elbow into the back of the neck as he passed by her. The next one came forward, and Ed immediately sent him back with a thrusting kick right to the face. She stopped the next one's advance with a spinning roundhouse. The fourth man jabbed his fists at her several times, but each time she dodged the attack. He swung his leg at her head, and she ducked under it. As he made the complete turn, she launched a fist and landed a punch to the chest. While he was stunned, she jumped to his side and delivered a kick to the his temple. She landed on her side and rolled as the fifth man tried his luck. However, when she stopped her roll, she lifted up her toe and buried her foot in his sternum. He bent over clutching his stomach, then he was knocked back as Edward, still on her back, uppercut him in the face. As the final man came at her, she whipped onto her feet in time to defend herself against his punch. She swiped a right fist across his face, and used her momentum to continue spinning, landing a roundhouse kick to the jaw.

_Number forty-seven said to number three_  
_"You're the cutest jailbird I ever did see_  
_I sure would be delighted with your company_  
_Come on and do the jailhouse rock with me!"_

_Let's rock!_  
_Everybody, let's rock!_  
_Everybody in the whole cell block_  
_Was dancin' to the jailhouse rock_

As Crey went into the musical interlude, the crowd was clearly on his side as their deafening screams washed over the square, especially from the female spectators when Crey began swinging his pelvis back and forth. 

Meanwhile, the fight was looking no better for the Syndicate henchmen. 

After taking down the sixth man, Edward sensed movement behind her, and flung a back kick at her oncoming foe. Another attacker threw a punch, but she blocked it, grabbed the arm, and twisted it behind his back. She shoved the man forward, sending him into a collision with another looming enemy. Their heads knocked together, and the man with the twisted arm fell to the ground while the other wobbled dizzily. He too met the pavement as Edward jumped at him and plastered a spinning wheel kick onto his face. She return to her feet in a breakdance-style spin, just in time to deliver another whiplash-inducing kick to a henchman's head. 

She turned around and saw two of her opponents attempting a team attack. They ran at her and tried to take her head off with a double clothesline. She ducked under their arms and dodged behind them. As they turned to her, she punched one in the stomach, dodged a swing from the other, and landed a kick to the same area. While they were both groggy, she grabbed them by the collars to keep them where they were, then jumped straight upward and did the splits in mid-air, simultaneously kicking them both in the faces. Upon landing, she ducked to avoid a backside attack. The assailant turned to her, where he met a dropkick to the chops. He sailed backwards and hit a wall, then slid to the ground where he would hopefully stay for the remainder of the fight. 

Suddenly a hand came upon her shoulder and turned her around. The henchman took a swing at her, which she easily avoided. She went for another spinning kick, but this time he too evaded the attack. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her forth, attempting to Irish whip her into the nearby street light. However she reversed the hold and pulled him toward her. She landed a kick to the stomach, forcing him to bend over. She tucked his head underneath her arm, then allowed herself to fall backward, taking him with her. His body slammed face-first upon the ground, he bounced a few inches into the air, then rest face down on the pavement. 

_Sad sack was sittin' on a block of stone_  
_Way over in the corner weepin' all alone_  
_The warden said, "Buddy, don't you be no square_  
_If you can't find a partner use a wooden chair"_

_Let's rock!_  
_Everybody, let's rock!_  
_Everybody in the whole cell block_  
_Was dancin' to the jailhouse rock_

_Shifty Henry said to Bugs, "For Heaven's sake,_  
_No one's lookin', now's our chance to make a break!"_  
_Bugsy turned to Shifty and he said, "Nix nix,_  
_I wanna stick around a while and get my kicks"_

_Let's rock!_  
_Everybody, let's rock!_  
_Everybody in the whole cell block_  
_Was dancin' to the jailhouse rock_

By the time Crey was starting on the last verse, the only Syndicate man left standing was the leader. He wiped a dribble of blood his lips, sustained by a pretty nasty kick Edward had given him earlier in the fight, and took a fighting stance. So did Ed. 

He started with a quick barrage of punches, which Edward lightly blocked. She answered the challenge with several thrust fists of her own, longer and more forceful, which were just as readily blocked by the leader. He snapped a leg forward, which Ed stepped aside to elude. He tried some more kicks, various in speed, style, and target. Edward had a slightly harder time defending herself, but still managed just fine. Finally, the leader whipped his body around and swung the back of his fist at her. She blocked and swept a leg underneath his, tripping him up. He regained his balance, but immediately took a kick to the face, followed by two quick punches. And last but not least, she ran forward, stopped just in front him, jumped backwards and performed a flawless backflip, kicking both feet into the underside of the leader's jaw. 

The leader flew off his feet and landed hard on his back, while Edward gracefully settled on the soles of her shoes. 

_They were dancin' to the jailhouse rock_  
_They were dancin' to the jailhouse rock_  
_They were dancin' to the jailhouse rock..._

Crey was damn glad he was on the very last note of the song, for what he saw demanded his immediate intervention anyway. Ignoring the supersonic applause of the audience, he watched as the leader slowly got up. As he did, he slipped a hand into the inside of his shirt and appeared to grab hold of something. And from the look of his grip, Crey could only assume it was a gun. And as good a fighter as Edward clearly was, she certainly wasn't bulletproof. 

He reached into his pocket and grabbed one of his capsules. He quickly look a glance at it to make sure it was the right kind, then lashed his hand up and tossed it high into the air. 

From her distance, Edward saw Crey's hand go up, and she looked in his direction. Up in the air, she saw a black object hurtling toward her; small, shaped like a cold pill, and decorated with a white stripe along the middle. 

As she reached out her hand and caught the capsule, she thrashed her head downward, forcing her goggles off her forehead and onto her eyes. She took a momentary glance at the leader, who she saw about to extract his firearm from its holster. In one swift, smooth motion, she closed her hand around the capsule, then turned to the leader and hurled the device in his face. 

Crey tapped on his palm twice. 

FOOM! 

Just as Crey described earlier, a brilliant fireball of pure white light exploded from the capsule. Though Edward's goggles well protected her from the blast, the flash was still bright enough that she had to turn away from it, while the leader, not so lucky to know what was coming, let loose an agonized yell as his retinas felt like they were suddenly tossed inside a microwave. 

When Ed was sure the flash had died down, she turned back to the leader, who stumbled around with one hand over his hands, and the other aimlessly swinging back and forth for a target. 

She ran straight at him and jumped as high as she could. Placing one leg in front and the other behind him, she clenched them together and locked his head in a scissor hold. She fell to the ground, using her weight to drag him down with her. She turned onto her stomach for the landing, thus driving his head into the ground with an unappetizing THUD! She released her legs, and the unconscious body balanced on its head for about a second, then tipped over and plopped onto its side. 

Crey set down the guitar and hopped off the stage. He made his way toward Edward's vicinity, taking a few high-fives from the audience, and even a few phone numbers from his newfound female fans. 

He finally found Ed, who brushed the dirt off her clothes as she admired the insensible shell of Qing He lying at her feet. She spotted the spent remains of the flash bomb she'd been handed, picked it up, and tossed it back to her partner. 

"Cool," she praised. 

He curled his lip, pointed both index fingers at her, and in what was quite possibly the single worst Elvis impression in history replied: 

"Thankyouverymuch."   
  
  
  


**_SHE'LL BE THERE WHEN YOU HIT THE GROUND..._**


	5. Crazy Little Thing Called Love

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 5:**  
**_Crazy Little Thing Called Love_**  


"Wakey-wakey, Mr. He!" 

The first thing Qing He saw as he opened his eyes was of course that slit of blinding light that everyone is subjected to when they first open their eyes after having them closed for long periods of time. Things slowly but surely came into focus, for he was soon able to separate the colors flooding into his pupils. The next thing he saw was the sky, but it looked different than he was used to; maybe it was just that he'd been knocked out for a while, or maybe he wasn't where he was before he'd been knocked out. The important thing was, he'd been knocked out, and it wasn't at all pleasant. He was gonna throttle that little harpy if he ever got his hands on her. Finally, as things further went into focus, he saw what looked like a building's rooftop, and he saw two large, blurry human shapes standing before him, one dressed from head to toe in gray and black, while the other seemed to be showing a lot of upper body skin. 

The two figures came in clear now, and his blood boiled a little. 

"Mornin'," said Edward. 

Qing was still too tired to do anything about her presence. He wouldn't have been able to anyway, because for some odd reason he couldn't move his arms and legs. 

"Where am I?" he asked. 

"We couldn't find any tall enough buildings back in Memphis," Crey answered. "So we decided to try someplace a little more threatening." 

"Huh?" 

Qing took a look around, and he finally realized both why he couldn't move and why the sky looked so different. Plus, he noticed his view of his captors was a little slanted, so he found out the why about that too. And upon his realization, he screamed for his life. 

First of all, he was tied to a wooden chair. The chair was tilted back a good forty-five degrees, leaving the back legs teetering hazardously on the very edge of the rooftop. The only thing keeping it, and him, from falling off was the pair of ropes tied to the dangling front legs. The ropes were intertwined into one thick cable, and the ends were tied at the center of the roof, to the base of a large radio tower inhabited by a flock of wild pigeons. 

Directly below the edge of the roof, Qing could clearly see, was what he approximated to be about a fifty-story drop. 

"Welcome back to Tharsis, Qing," Crey hailed him. 

"What do you want from me!?" he demanded. 

"Miss Edward, if you please," said Crey. 

"Mr. DeSanto, I do insist," she replied. 

Crey shrugged and pulled out from behind his back a small plastic bag filled with seeds. He presented it to Qing, then walked to the midpoint of the rope holding the chair. Edward reached into her pocket and took out her pocketknife, then pitched it to Crey, who opened up the blade and cut a hole in the bag. The bag's contents spilled out and scattered upon the ground, but not without covering the rope hanging over it. 

"Feeding time, boys!" he cried. 

As if on command, each member of the flock of pigeons flew from its perch and descended to the ground, and immediately began indulging itself in the meal their human friends so graciously provided them. 

Qing He suddenly became very nervous as he saw the filthy animals repeatedly pecking at his lifeline. 

"In the interest of fairness, we're gonna give you about thirty seconds to explain yourself," Edward explained. "After that, your fate will lie in the capable claws of our little feathered friends. Now I'd say you're about 230, 240 pounds, and each one of them is about two pounds a pop. Not a very good ratio is you're hoping one of them's gonna grab that rope when it snaps." 

"What do you want to know!?" Qing asked. 

"Erik Estevez," Crey announced. "Where's he headed?" 

"How should I know!?" he replied. "That what I hired Mole for, and he chickened out! I wouldn't know where Estevez is going any better than you!" 

"We know a certain Freddie Queen who'll testify to the contrary," said Ed. "You have twenty five seconds." 

The birds had already started to form a noticeable dent in the ropes. 

"What did Queen tell you?" asked Qing. 

"Basically that you'd know what Double-E's pattern is," said Crey. 

"And if I were to tell you he was wrong?" 

"You're Syndicate scum," Edward remarked. "You always know more than you say." 

"On the ground, maybe, but not fifty stories up!" he cried. 

"Sixty," Crey corrected him. "You have fifteen seconds." 

The birds were getting further through the rope, which was starting to stretch from the weight on its unsecured end. 

"We've been trying to follow his 'pattern' for months!" Qing professed. "It's been a whole year now and we have nothing. No leads, no witnesses, not a damn thing! That's why my superiors put up the bounty! Cowboys like the two of you were the only thing we had left! So far, nothing even close from them either!" 

"Yes, but none of them thought to come to you," Edward noted. "After all, you were the one who hired Estevez in the first place, no? And by the way, you have five seconds." 

The rope was closer and closer to getting pecked clear in two. It wouldn't last much longer anyway. 

"Yes, I hired him," Qing confessed. "A-1 mistake, I know! I already paid for that when--" 

"Sorry, Qing," Ed interrupted him, "but your thirty seconds of fame are up." 

She again reached into her shirt and this time grabbed her gun. She showed it to Qing, then turned to the rope and took careful aim at the weakened area. Qing trembled like a Chihuahua in an earthquake. 

"No, wait..." he pleaded. "...no no no no NO!" 

BANG! The gun went off, scaring away the pigeons. The bullet hits its mark perfectly, snapping the rope in two. 

Qing closed his eyes and screamed bloody murder. 

He stopped when he realized he was not falling. 

In fact, as he opened his eyes and looked around again, he saw he was still balanced on the edge of the roof. The rope was cut, the remains of it still tied to the front legs of the chair and lying limply on the rooftop. However the chair was still tilted back, but seemed to be just hanging there without any means of support. 

"What the hell--!?!" 

Crey leaned in front of Qing's chair and closed his index finger and thumb together around thin air. He pulled his hand towards him, and taking whatever his fingers were holding with him. He released it like he was plucking a guitar string, and the reflected light revealed Qing He's savior - a single piano wire, one end wrapped around Qing's waist, the other end tied to the radio tower. Qing thought his belt felt tighter than usual. 

"It's your lucky day, Qing," Crey said. "We're in a generous mood, so we're giving you one last chance to spill your guts." 

"So I suggest you proceed to spill your guts," Edward forebode, as she twirled around and pointed the barrel of her gun right between the captive's eyes. "Before we let the sidewalk do it for you." 

"Aren't you supposed to be the good guys!?" Qing sniveled. 

"Good...bad..." she sneered. "I'm the bitch with the gun." 

"Trying this again," said Crey. "Erik Estevez. Speak, Boo-Boo, speak." 

Qing lowered his head in shame and sighed discontentedly. 

"It's all our fault," he said. "We made him too strong." 

"What do you mean you _made_ him too strong?" Edward probed. 

"Estevez was a failed experiment," Qing fessed up. "We didn't want just anybody to run those sabotage missions. We needed someone crazy enough to do it, and someone who could move quickly enough to not be seen. And if he was seen, he'd be deadly enough to kill anyone who tried to stop him. Erik Estevez was the best thing we had, but we thought he'd need a little help. So we convinced him to agree to undergo a few experiments...to enhance him." 

"What kind of 'enhancements'?" asked Crey. 

"Make him stronger, faster, all that Six Million Dollar Man bullshit," he said. "Cybernetic technology would only slow him down, and we couldn't find the right mixture of steroids and stimulants that would do the job without some disgusting side effects. There was one thing we could think of that would do the job. Bloody Eye." 

"What's Bloody Eye got to do with this!?" Edward charged. 

"Our scientists reworked the formula," he continued. "We got rid of most of the addictive qualities in it, so it could make him stronger and not turn him into a junkie. We performed the necessary surgery, installed an injection valve into his skull, so that when he needed it he could mentally command a stream of Bloody Eye directly into his brain. Then, if he needed another one, he came back to us for a refill before doing the next job." 

"So what did eventually go wrong?" 

"We still don't know for certain. The fact that Estevez is still running wild with the strength of an ox led us to speculate a few theories and run a few experiments. We tested the new formula we made for him, and then we realized the flaw. We never once considered the mutational possibilities of the drug before." 

"What do you mean 'mutational'!?" Crey asked with dread. 

"It's our assumption that upon pumping in the first batch we gave him, the drug started to mutate some glands in his head, and it eventually turned them into a supplyer of Bloody Eye. His body is constantly feeding it to him like it was testosterone. And it does just what we intended; it made him stronger than any weightlifter, faster than any bullet, and smarter than any opponent." 

"You're telling us you gave a raving lunatic like Estevez a bottomless reservoir of Bloody Eye!?" Edward shouted in disbelief. "Just how stupid are you!?" 

"We never expected this," Qing retaliated. 

"So now you just expect the rest of the world to deal with the problem you started," Crey lectured, "and your only excuse for all the blown-up buildings and dead bodies is, 'We never expected this'!?" He turned to Edward as he held up her pocketknife and put the blade to the piano wire. "Can I kill this dumbass now?" 

"Wait for it," she replied, not taking her eyes off Qing. "Where is he going next?" 

"I told you, I don't know," he said. 

"You're at both gunpoint and knifepoint here, Qing," she warned him. "I wouldn't start lying now." 

"I told you, I don't fucking know!" he yelled. "But there is one person who I'm sure does. And I'd ask her myself if I knew where the hell she was at." 

"Why don't you tell us who she is, and we'll worry about the where?" Crey offered. 

"Sarah Meyer," Qing said. "She's an old girlfriend of Estevez's." 

"Who would date that loony?" Edward asked cynically. 

"I'm serious!" he yapped. "She was with him when we first hired him. When he went AWOL on us, we found out she left him too, so we tried to track her down to find out what she knew about his plan. But she was a little too quick for us. Must have taken a few lessons from her cuckoo's-nest boyfriend." 

"Any idea where she might be?" Crey asked. 

"Now, no," Qing answered. "But the very last place we looked for her was Io. We knew for certain she was there for some period of time. We don't know how long, but either way she'd been gone a week by the time we got there. We haven't gotten anywhere in our search for her ever since. So if you're looking for any solid clues, look for Sarah Meyer, and look for her on Io. That's all I know." 

Edward slendered her vision on the man. She stared deep into his eyes, and couldn't help but get the feeling that he was being truthful. But then again, who wouldn't be truthful when suspended sixty stories off a concrete road? But also then again, who wouldn't say anything to save themselves when suspended sixty stories off a concrete road? 

She twirled around the gun and put it back in her pocket. 

"DeSanto, a moment of your time, please," she requested. 

She turned and distanced herself from the captive. Crey joined her, and the two began a discussion inaudible to the hostage. While Qing watched their backsides, he moved his head from side to side, attempting in vain to overhear something, anything from their conversation, which he could only tell was in the nature of "can we trust him?" or something along those lines. 

Fifteen seconds passed, then the bounty hunters turned around and walked back to face Qing. Both were smiling. 

"We appreciate your sparing this time to speak with us, Mr. He," Edward thanked him. "You have indeed been most helpful." 

Qing finally relaxed. He was off the hook. 

Yeah, right. 

As soon as she stopped speaking, Crey tossed the pocketknife into the air. Edward caught it by the handle, spun it around in her hand, then sliced the blade downward, severing the piano wire. And this time, there was nothing else to stop the unavoidable descent. 

Qing opened wide and said: 

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!" 

About two seconds later, however, his scream was again cut off, but only because he felt the back of his chair smack against something hard. The strange thing was, he was still alive, and the impact happened quite a bit sooner than he imagined, and it certainly wasn't anywhere near as painful. 

He looked up, where he saw the edge of the rooftop, as well as Edward and Crey looming over him, their satisfied smiles still painted across their faces. Taking yet another look around, he found he was still too far up for him to be on the pavement. It seems he had landed on a wide ledge about ten feet below the edge of the rooftop, one just wide enough to catch him on his fall, and just narrow enough for him to miss it when he studied his surroundings earlier and thus detected that his life was in danger. 

He moaned a little, then let his head drop and his body go limp as he fainted. 

"Squeamish little guy, isn't he?" asked Crey. 

"Quite," she approved. "Next stop, Io." 

"You don't sound too optimistic," he observed. 

"You ever been to Io, Crey?" she asked. 

"Don't think so." 

"Well let's just say once we get there, you're gonna want to air out those leather pants a few times a day."

********

Before they even entered the atmosphere, Crey could tell what Edward meant by that last comment she made before they took off. He couldn't make out a single leaf of vegetation all across the terrain of Io as RedTail came closer. All he saw was a gigantic blob of dust and rocks. As they started their decline, his fears proved true; nothing but arid deserts and cliffs. Io was little more than a giant dustball. If Sarah Meyer was hiding here, he could clearly see why; the environment alone was enough to drive away a potential pursuer. 

Edward brought the craft down at the base of a cliff, where there lay a field of assorted flatrocks. When Crey opened up the passenger side door and took into a massive whiff of dry, warm oxygen, he would have been glad to pass out right then and there. 

"Be glad it's nighttime," Ed consoled him. "It's even worse in broad daylight." 

"I can't wait," he groaned. "Why are we parkin' here?" 

"Nobody on this ball of rock is too proud to try and steal your car when you're not looking," she said. "And they aren't as subtle about it as you are. I'm not taking any chances with my ship. It stays here." 

"We couldn't possibly leave it someplace a little closer to civilization?" 

"I know this area," she said, looking back on one of her stranger _Bebop_ adventures. "There's a town five miles south of here. We'll head there tomorrow morning and start asking questions." 

"Why wait till tomorrow?" he asked. "Why not now when it's not as hot out?" 

"No one's open for business now," Ed answered. "Everybody's asleep. And they're going to look kindly on some strange kid banging on their door in the middle of the night asking about a possible murder witness who's wanted by the mob. They'll at least be in a better mood for it while they're awake." 

She popped open a trunk hatch on the side of RedTail and started unpacking a few things; a couple canteens, a electric lantern, two sleeping bags, and a pair of pillows. She handed a bag and a pillow to Crey, then took the lantern out of its packaging and turned it on. It lit up and burned brightly enough to make a decent pseudo-campfire. 

"We'll have plenty of time to do our thing tomorrow," she said as she unrolled her bag and crawled inside. "Now, it's snooze time." 

********

Edward got little to no sleep that night. She certainly tried, but her body seemed to have other plans. She would close her eyes, she'd toss and turn a while, then wake up, look at her watch, and to her dismay find that only a few minutes had gone by. This process repeated itself until around three o'clock in the morning, then Ed finally tossed the top layer of her sleeping bag off her body and sat up, flinging her pillow at RedTail's hull as if her insomnia was the ship's doing. 

She didn't often have trouble sleeping. When she did, it was usually either because she'd drank something with way too much caffeine, or there was something important on her mind. When it was the latter, as was the case now, she never had much difficulty finding out what was troubling her. Sadly, this was not the case. 

Well, actually it was and wasn't. Edward knew there was a mixture of motifs running through her head, but what exactly what blend consisted of was the real mystery. 

Part of it had to do with Faye Valentine, which Ed found odd because she had come to terms with Faye's death long ago; she'd lost more than enough sleep over that. Another piece of the puzzle depicted Jet Black, which again she found odd considering the last time Edward saw Jet, they parted on pretty good terms, despite the unpleasant verbal altercation they exchanged earlier that day. Maybe it was simply the fact that that fight even took place was what still lingered. 

One subject that she no trouble identifying, however, was that regarding her new business partner, one Mr. Crey Jenét DeSanto. The problem: she flat out still didn't trust the man, even though he'd already proven himself as far as his motives and his skills were concerned. 

Perhaps it was some of those old school cop morals she picked up from Jet during her _Bebop_ era; don't trust anyone. Or more likely it was just what Crey had done to her that he was seemingly unaware of...but that was an matter she would deal with in due time. 

She looked up into the diamond-studded sky, another quality of life she took pleasure in while living on her own out on the Earth frontier. She despised what city lights did to her view of the stars, and whenever she was on Mars or Ganymede or whatever electricity-drenched city her ventures took her, she couldn't wait for the next opportunity to come back to someplace just empty enough for her to enjoy the nighttime splendor. It reminded her of a song she'd heard long ago; she'd forgotten who she heard singing it because there were several versions in existence, but whoever the vocalist, the lyrics themselves expressed her feelings more than accurately: 

_When this old world starts getting me down_  
_And people are just to much for me to face_  
_I climb right up to the stop of the stairs_  
_And all my cares just drift right into space_  
_On the roof's the only place I know_  
_Where you just have to wish to make it so_  
_Up on the roof_

_When I get home feeling tired and beat_  
_I go up where the air is fresh and sweet_  
_I get away from that hustling crowd_  
_And all that rat race noise down in the street_  
_At night the stars put on a show for free_  
_And darling, you can share it all with me_

_I keep telling you that right smack-dab in the middle of town_  
_I've found a paradise that's trouble-proof_  
_And when this old world starts getting you down_  
_There's room enough for two up on the roof_  
_Up on the roof_

Off in the distance she could see sunlight reflecting off of Ganymede, and a little further away Callisto. These were simple pleasures that put a smile on her face, as well as in her heart. 

It was funny that she was thinking of music, because just then she could have sworn she was hearing some right now, and not just in her head. An electric guitar riff to be exact, accompanied by a male singing voice. She looked over at Crey's sleeping bag, only to see it had not been slept in. His guitar, the camp lantern, and Crey himself were all nowhere to be seen. 

She got up and started walking, following the music as it was played. She paused when she suddenly heard part of the tune played off key, followed by a very clear curse from the musician. 

She went around the base of the cliff and finally found Crey, sitting on the edge of a flatrock with his back to her. He was of course practicing, and the lantern was set up next to him for better light. He started the same song from the beginning, and played it to perfection up to the point where he'd messed up before, where he carelessly messed up again. 

"Crap!" he growled. 

Edward chuckled under her breath. 

"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked out loud. 

Darn, he caught her. 

"I'd have to have been asleep for you to wake me," she replied. 

"Can't sleep either, huh?" 

"Nope," she said as she walked toward him. "But if I was, there are certainly worse things I could wake up to." 

"If there was ever a positive endorsement of my talents," Crey said with a smile. "I've been practicing that same damn song the last ten years, and I still screw it up on that one part. I can play everything else like I wrote it, but when I hit that one single beat, it's like the muses were playin' a prank on me." 

She walked around the flatrock and took a seat on the ground in front of Crey. 

"Every time my brother heard me hit the wrong chord," he continued, "he'd beg and plead for me to move on to something else. 'For God's sake, Crey, try singing something else, you're never gonna get it right!' Too bad I'll never have the chance to show him wrong." 

Edward was surprised at how calm he seemed while talking about his brother. She then figured Crey had been without his brother two years longer than she had been without Faye, so he was just a little more used to his loss than she was to hers. 

"What was your brother like?" she asked. 

"He was a wild one," he said. "We were nothing alike, he and I. Hell, we didn't even look alike. I mean, if you saw pictures of us when we were little, he looked more like that weird kid who lived down the street than the guy I shared a bunk bed with. You ever heard that song 'Nowhere Man'?" 

"Yeah." 

"That was him through and through," he said. "Always off in his own little world, didn't really care what anybody else thought, as long as he got the chance to voice his own opinion. That's what I really liked about him. He didn't take no crap from nobody he didn't have to. When I first got it in my head to become a singer, if he heard anybody talkin' trash about it, he'd give one right to the face." 

He turned back to his guitar and started strumming a random series of chords. It didn't come together to form anything specific, but it still fit the mood of the conversation well. 

"What would..." Edward started. 

"What?" 

"What would you say..." she finished, "...is your favorite song that you've ever played?" 

He looked a little shocked by the question, but then started to give it some serious thought. 

"I'd say..." he answered, "...Damn, that is a good question...yeah...yeah...there was this one song...'Candle in the Wind'. I first heard it right after Mom died. I was something of a wreck back then; I just couldn't keep anything straight in my head...and, uh, then one evening while Jeremiah was at work, I turned on the radio and on came that song. And something about it just sorta called out to me. Everything I felt when I heard Mom was dead, it just came to together in that one song. It was...it was like the guy wrote the lyrics just for me or something, even though I know he wrote it not only years before I was born, but for something else completely...but it was like he knew I had to hear it if I was ever gonna get my life back on track." He reminisced, and he nodded his head as if agreeing with his own thoughts. "And it worked to." 

"Could you play it for me?" Edward asked. 

Again he looked astonished by the request, but then he smiled and nodded. 

"Yeah...yeah, sure." 

He checked that the strings were tuned properly, then he played a few practice chords to see if he was starting the tune correctly. He paused a second, then began playing the opening melody, a slow, sweet-sounding balance of the somber and the upbeat. When he approached the correct moment, he began the lyrics: 

_Goodbye Norma Jean_  
_Though I never knew you at all_  
_You had the grace to hold yourself_  
_While those around you crawled_  
_They crawled out of the woodwork_  
_And they whispered into your brain_  
_They set you on the treadmill_  
_And they made you change your name_

_And it seems to me you lived your life like a candle in the wind_  
_Never knowing who to cling to when the rain set in_  
_And I would have liked to have known you, but I just a kid_  
_Your candle burned out long before your legend ever did_

_Loneliness was tough_  
_The toughest role you ever played_  
_Hollywood created a superstar_  
_And pain was the price you paid_  
_And even when you died_  
_Oh the press still hounded you_  
_All the papers had to say_  
_Was that Marilyn was found in the nude_

_And it seems to me you lived your life like a candle in the wind_  
_Never knowing who to cling to when the rain set in_  
_And I would have liked to have known you, but I just a kid_  
_Your candle burned out long before your legend ever did_

He went into a musical interlude, an improvised instrumental of the first verse chorus' melody. 

As Edward listened, she looked at Crey's eyes while he played. There was this intense, gloomy glimmer in them as he heard his own voice and music. 

And while Edward's eyes were transfixed on Crey, her ears and her mind were transfixed on the music. Crey said he loved the song because it reached inside him and balanced perfectly with the anguish he felt over the loss of his loved one. Edward now understood this concept completely, because she knew she was beginning to feel a similar sensation deep in the pit of her stomach. 

She froze, and she took no notice of the liquid starting to form in her eyes. 

_Goodbye Norma Jean_  
_Though I never knew you at all_  
_You had the grace to hold yourself_  
_While those around you crawled_  
_Goodbye Norma Jean_  
_From the young man in the 22nd row_  
_Who sees you as something more than sexual_  
_More than just our Marilyn Monroe_

_And it seems to me you lived your life like a candle in the wind_  
_Never knowing who to cling to when the rain set in_  
_And I would have liked to have known you, but I just a kid_  
_Your candle burned out long before your legend ever did_

_Your candle burned out long before..._  
_your legend ever did..._

Crey strummed the final note and let it echo off into nothingness. He looked up at Edward, and he saw the melancholy look on her face - the tears in her eyes, the quiver in lower lips, and the overall blank, mournful feel of her whole expression. 

"Ed?" he called to her. "Ed, are you all right?" 

She snapped out of it, then looked away from him and she wiped away the tears. She looked back to Crey, a cheerful smile replacing her joyless pout. 

"Yeah..." she replied. "Yeah, Crey, I'm fine." 

********

An unbearable three-hour walk followed their departure from RedTail the following morning, after they packed everything up and covered the craft with a camouflaging tarp to hide it from would-be thieves of the roving kind. Edward led the way, breaking only a minor sweat even in the horrific heat, while her partner trudged along behind her panting like a dog, his dragon shirt dangling from his hand after being removed from his backside. Meanwhile Edward maintained a steady stride, her gray overshirt removed from her shoulders and now tied by its sleeves around her waist. 

"I thought you said the nearest town was only a few miles away!" Crey griped. 

"I did." 

"So how do you explain why we're still walking?" 

She ignored him. 

"If there was a town around here, we'd have reached it by now!" he argued. 

"So what do you want me to say, DeSanto!?" she replied. "That we're lost? Fine, we're lost! I screwed up, and now we're aimlessly wandering through the middle of a big friggin' desert. Now go ahead and say it!" 

"Say what?" he asked. 

"The 'I told you so'," said Ed. "There's always an 'I told you so' when it comes to men finding out they were right all along." 

"Edward, my friend, you'll hear no 'I told you so's' from me," he promised. 

She stopped, surveyed the settings, and combed a hand through her scalp. "Maybe we oughta just head back to RedTail and fly there," she compromised. "I mean, anything's better than standing around here trying to jump down each other's throats. I might as well just take my chances with the carjackers." 

"I coulda told you that," Crey crabbed. 

"Ah-HA!" she exclaimed as she turned to him. "You see? That was an 'I told you so'!" 

"What are you talking about?" he returned. "That was so not an 'I told you so'!" 

"'I coulda told you that'," she mocked him. "What would you call it!?" 

"I'd--" 

He was unable to finish, though, when Edward placed a finger over his lips to muffle him, and she started darting her eyes from side to side as if she expected an enemy to leap out of nowhere. She turned her back to him and looked off in several directions, then focused on one, about ninety degrees counterclockwise of their original heading, and pointed a finger in it. 

"That way," she declared with triumph. 

As she started off in her new bearing, she left behind a dazed and confused Crey DeSanto. 

"Excuse me?" he asked. 

"I made a little miscalculation," she explained. "The next town is southeast of where we put RedTail." 

"How do you know that!?" he urged. 

Ed stopped and closed her eyes, and she took a few quick sniffs of the air around her. She opened her eyes and grinned. 

"Edward smells food," she said maniacally. 

She began moving again, leaving behind an even more incredulous Crey. 

"What are you, a bloodhound!?"

********

They reached the town after another hour or so of walking, and Edward made certain to dish out her own "I told you so" to the disbeliever. The mere sticking out of Crey's tongue was his unexpectedly classy reply. 

The town itself was straight out a Clint Eastwood movie; it was simply that one long stretch of dusty road, and the entire town was lined up on either side of it, houses, businesses, and all. There was even a clock tower at the center that, appropriately enough, was stuck on high noon. All they needed was that eerie whistling music and everything would be perfect. Where's Lee Marvin when you need him anyway? 

Edward decided the best course of action was to split up and each take one side of the road, Ed on the east side, Crey on the west. Ed made her way south from the northern end, and went from building to building interviewing hopeful witnesses. All claimed to know nothing, but she had the feeling people were keeping their silence out of fear for the consequences of telling the truth. 

She was about to give up on this town, until she walked into the local saloon. 

The place was barren except for three individuals - the bartender, of course, and two old men sitting at a table near the entrance. One, sort of hunched over, wore a faded pink shirt buttoned up only half way, and had a head of poofy white hair covered by a red and white baseball cap with an "N" embroided on the front. The other was was skinnier, wore a faded aqua shirt buttoned up all the way, and had white hair with a matching mustache. His derby of choice was a straw hat. When Edward walked in, the two were locked in an ongoing poker game, the results of which were not so favorable for one. 

"What!? This again!?" the baseball-capped one screeched. "God damn son of a bitch! How can you sit there and steal my money like that, ya lousy cheatin' dog! After all I put up with fer ya too! Why, the only reason you can even live here is 'cause of the work I done! Me and my two best buddies..." 

"You say the same thing every time you start losing!" his opponent replied. "Would you grow a pair already? And besides, I'm one of those best buddies you're talkin' about!" 

"Yeah, and what happened to the other one!?" Baseball Cap asked. "I'll tell ya! He ran off so you couldn't cheat him broke too!" 

Edward took in some minor entertainment from their antics, then continued on to the bar and addressed the barkeep. 

"I'm looking for someone," she said. 

"Everybody 'round here's lookin' for somethin' for someone," the barkeep replied. "You might wanna be a little more specific." 

"All right, I'm looking for someone named Sarah Meyer," Edward clarified. "Heard she used to live around here somewhere. Sound familiar?" 

The bartender looked a little jolted at the mention of Meyer's name. At the same time, Baseball Cap and Straw Hat started paying attention to the conversation. 

"That ain't the Sarah Meyer I'm thinkin' of, is it?" he asked. 

"I would suppose so." 

"Well, I don't know nothin'!" he snapped, the falseness in his tone all to obvious. "Nobody around here's gonna say anything to you about her, and I suggest you stop asking around for her anyway. You can bet no one's gonna get tangled up in her business, I'll tell ya that!" 

"I only want to know where she is," Ed insisted. "What happens after that is no one's problem but hers and mine." 

"Sounds reasonable enough," the barkeep contended. "But there's always the off chance that somethin' can make its way back to her psycho ex-boyfriend...and that's what's gonna keep everybody's mouths shut. Now I'm afraid if you've got nothin' to order here, ma'am, I'm gonna ask--" 

"Oh, save your breath!" she barked, turning for the door. 

She passed by the table occupied by the two old geezers, and she halted as she heard: 

"Hey girlie...I know who you're lookin' fer." 

She turned and glared at Baseball Cap, who stared back lustfully at her. 

"Yeah, that's right," he said. "I know where she's at. And I guarantee you're not gonna find that kinda information nowhere else." 

"You don't know squat!" Straw Hat scolded. "Lady, don't listen to this goof, he--" 

"SHUT UP!" Baseball Cap roared. "So what do you say, pretty thing?" 

Ed kept glaring a moment, then grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the table, then sat down on it backwards and continued giving the old man her evil eye. 

"What have you got?" she asked. 

"Well shucks howdy, ma'am," he said slyly. "I think I just plum forgot what I was gonna say! You know old folks, got everything together one second, and then losin' it the next!" 

Ed smirked, then reached into her pocket and grabbed hold of a fistful of woolongs. She wasn't sure how much, but she had a feeling it'd be more than enough to get this wrinkly little pervert to start yapping. 

"Let me put it this way," she offered. "You start putting the pieces back together..." She set the money on the table and pushed it in Baseball Cap's direction. "...and you'll have plenty more to lose to your friend here." 

The old coot toothlessly grinned from ear to ear. 

"It's all comin' back now, missy..." 

********

"Crey, we're in business!" 

She caught up to Crey on the other side of the street. 

"We're outta here," she said with glee. "I got a lead. I know where Meyer is at!" 

"Already!?" he asked. "How--?" 

"Boring tale, I'll tell ya later," she said. "Let's start back to RedTail, 'cause we might now have much time! We gotta go back to Ganymede and get some winter clothes." 

"Winter clothes?" he repeated. "Where the hell we goin'?" 

"Callisto," she said. "The only place worse than Io. The place is a giant snowball. And there are only about three towns on the whole rock, so we'll be in an out of there even faster than we were here!" 

"How'd you find out so fast?" asked Crey. 

"I found one guy who wasn't afraid to spill it. At least not for the right price, of course. By the way, the next gateway fee is on you. I'm outta pocket money." 

"Uh, yeah...sure," he said, sounding a bit uncertain. 

"C'mon, move your ass!" she ordered. "It's only a matter of time before Estevez hits his next spot, so we've gotta find Sarah Meyer before that! Man, we are just so damn lucky I found that informant when I did!" 

She started jogging toward the end of town, but she stopped when she realized Crey still behind her. As she turned, she saw him walking after her, but he was looking away, scratching his nose a few times. And there was something on his face - guilt, maybe - that took hold of her suspicions like an iron claw. 

"And what is that?" she demanded. 

"What?" 

"That 'You don't know the half of it' look!" she accused him. "I've seen that look a million times, and it's never a good thing!" 

"What are you talking about?" he asked. 

"Crey, are you hiding something?" 

"What!?" 

"You heard me!" 

"Yeah, I heard you!" he said. "And I think you're nuts! Of course I'm not hiding anything!" 

"Crey, if you are keeping something from me, you know I will eventually find out about it, and I will make you pay. So now's the best time to suck it up and get it out in the open...before I do," she mandated. 

Crey groaned and tossed his hands in frustration, turning his back to her. He eventually turned back to her, only to see she was obviously not convinced he was being truthful. He groaned again, and he walked over to the nearest wall and leaned against it, running his fingers through his air, removing the band around his ponytail. 

"I knew all along where Meyer was." 

Pause. 

"Say again?" 

"I knew all along--" 

"I heard you!" she thundered. "You're telling me you knew where to go from the very beginning!?" 

"No, not from the beginning!" he said. "Ed, it wasn't what you think. Listen I--" 

He stopped as Edward suddenly bolted at him and aimed the sole of her shoe at his head. He dodged out of the way, and her foot left a dent into the wooden siding of the building. 

"You bastard!" she cursed. "You lied to me! I told you day one we don't keep secrets from each other!" 

"Yeah! Yeah, I lied to you!" he admitted, raising his arms in surrender. "But I had my reasons! I knew where to go, but that's it! And I didn't even know for certain if it was the right place, so I had to sure. If we'd gone to Callisto right away, we'd wouldn't have found anything relevant until now anyway! I knew where to go, but not who to look for! And now that we have a name, and we've verified where she's hiding, it makes perfect sense why she's hiding there!" 

"Go on," she hissed. 

"You ever been Blue Crow on Callisto?" he asked. "It's the sorriest god damn place I've ever been to. It's bad enough the weather sucks and the economy's weak, not the mention the people are a bunch of jerks. But most importantly, you're more than likely not gonna find a single woman living there." 

Ed found this fascinating, and decided to put aside her desire to strangle Crey long enough for him to finish. 

"Now I don't know how it happened, so for all I know they just like it that way," he continued. "But ninety-nine days out of a hundred, it's all man, baby. And that's probably what's kept the Syndicate from goin' there to look for her, 'cause they know what kind of place it is. That's why she's hiding there, 'cause no one would think to look for a woman there. I mean, it's only good logic, right?" 

"You still lied to me!" said Edward. 

"Yes, and like I said, I had reasons," he said. "I wanted to stick around with you a little longer, get to know you better. Maybe then I wouldn't piss you off so much!" 

"Oh, and you thought hiding information from me was the way to go!" she laughed. "Brilliant. Einstein-caliber thinking there, DeSanto. Bravo!" 

"Well I might not have done it if I got a little more respect outta you!" he yelled. "In fact ever since we met, you've been a little too willing to put me down whenever you get the chance. In hyperspace it was 'Dummkopf', on Tharsis it was 'Estupido'...I suppose next you're gonna start insulting me in Italian!?" 

"Parlate la lingua dell'Baci-Mio-Asino?" she asked. 

(Translation: "Do you speak the language of Kiss-My-Ass?") 

His reply: "Sul vostro asino con vetro rotto!" 

(Translation: "Up your ass with broken glass!") 

"Oh, and that seering wit of yours never fails to delight me!" Ed snapped. 

"So why don't you come out as long as we're in this confession booth together, Ed?" he challenged. "Why am I so automatically on your bad side!?" 

"You wanna know?" 

"I asked, didn't I?" 

"You really wanna know?" 

"Yeah!" 

"Because you once cost me seventy-five million woolongs, that's why!" she blurted out. 

Crey was left with no other reply but a dumbfounded, glazed-over look. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Seventy-five million woolongs, Crey!" Edward repeated, emphasizing each and every syllable with equal importance. "Does December 17, 2077 ring a bell?" 

"Nothing springs to mind," he said. 

"How about the name George Washington Pierce?" she asked. 

He thought a little harder. "Vagely...why?" 

"Let me fill in the blanks for you!" she said. "Pierce was a surgeon for a mobile hospital unit during the war on Titan. He got dumped from the army after some weird scandal and pretty much lost everything; money, family, whatever, it wasn't his anymore. So he gets it in his head to break into a war museum on Earth and steal a thermonuclear bomb, with the intention of dropping it over Mars if he doesn't get compensation. So ISSP puts out the bounty, and I'm the only one crazy enough to take on a madman with a nuclear weapon. I had everything planned out to the finest detail; I had a program written out that when uploaded into his ship's computer would shut down the engine and send out a signal to disable the bomb's detonator. And I'm about to do so with no trouble, when somebody feels it's the perfect time to hack into my computers! So I'm trying to protect the program, meanwhile fighting off some no-name hacker going by the name of...I think you can finish this sentence." 

The realization struck hard. "The Unknown Bounty," he finished. 

"Thanks to your intrusion," she finished, "two things went wrong. One, the program got corrupted, and it was uploaded too early. Instead of shutting down the bomb, it was set off! Granted, by blowing him up, Mars was saved, but dammit, Crey, that was a lot of money!" 

"I remember that day," he said blankly. "I remember it well now, because I made the biggest discovery of my life. I spent the longest time searching, but all my efforts up to then were useless, but that day, I was certain...I found him. Or in this case, her!" 

Edward showed him her backside and stormed away. He ran after her and quickly caught up. 

"So the Great One finally steps out!" he cried. "I had a feeling about you the moment you walked into the club, and now I'm certain! It's you, isn't it? The hacker among hackers! You're Radical Edward!" 

She whirled around and connected her fist with his unsuspecting jaw. 

His next statement would have been "What was that for!?", except he never got the chance, because Edward kept on swinging. He was able to dodge around her a few times, then as she threw a huge wind-up punch, she grabbed her arm as it came at him, and he used her momentum to flip her onto her backside. She rolled over onto her stomach, and she glowered homicidally at him as she worked her way onto one knee. 

Crey stood over her and extended a hand in friendship. Ed stared at the hand a second, then seemed to swallow her pride and take it. However, as he began to help her up, she grabbed him by the collar, placed her feet on his chest, and tossed him over his head with a monkey flip maneuver. He was sent onto his back, while Ed remained on her own. They heads lay next to one another as they rested. 

"Suffice to say, this is getting us nowhere," he panted. 

"I hate you," she sizzled. 

They got up separately. Crey rose first, and he again helped Edward to her feet, this time without any physical trickery. They walked it off while heading for the edge of town. 

"Dammit, I'm tired," she said. "I don't think I've gone this long without sleep since I was thirteen." 

"We can sleep later," Crey said. "Let's get back to RedTail. We'll head to Ganymede for supplies, then we go to Callisto, we snag Meyer at Blue Crow, then what do you say I treat you to a Mike's Hard? It's the least I can do to start making up for that seventy-five mill, right?" 

He heard no answer. Then all of a sudden he heard something plop onto the ground, and what was without a doubt someone snoring like a lawn mower. He turned around, and a few feet behind him was Edward, in a seated position on the ground, fast asleep. 

Crey stared in amazement, blinking his eyes twice just to ensure he wasn't imagining this. 

********

Funny...the last thing Ed remembered was the non-negotiable desire to break Crey DeSanto's face. When she woke up, however, she sensed no more trace of that feeling, but instead one of refreshment. She felt energized. Just how long was she asleep? A look at her watch revealed it was 6 PM. About six hours. She must have needed it. 

She sat up and studied the scenery, because she could tell by how comfortable she'd been that Crey hadn't just left her knocked out in the dirt. She was a hotel room, the kind that only provided the essentials: bed, bathroom, kitchen, and of course the supreme necessity, television. Whatever Crey paid for the room, she hoped it wasn't much, and she definitely hoped he didn't pay with her charge card. That was all she needed - another reason to kill him. 

At the thought of her less than honest partner, Edward went from refreshed to contrite. She couldn't commit to full memory what she said to him before spacing out, but she did remember it wasn't friendly, and he probably didn't deserve it as much as she'd like to think. 

As she started to get up, she found the bed sheets blocking leg movement. Awww, he even tucked her in. 

She went over to the window and pulled open the drapes partway. Sure enough, she was still in the same town. 

"We'd be in Ganymede by now," a voice said, "but I didn't feel like draggin' you across the desert for seven miles." 

Edward's head followed the voice, and just walking in the door was Crey. He sat down on the bed and rubbed the back of his sore neck. 

"Besides, I already got the weirdest look from the clerk downstairs," he added. "He sees me walking in with you slung over my shoulder, and he just stares at you like he thinks you're stone cold drunk or something. I told him I knocked you out just to keep him from asking questions." 

"And where have you been?" asked Ed, deciding to ignore that last remark. 

"Out making sure you didn't get hosed," he said. "I found that old guy who sold you the info, asked him a few questions, gave him the shakedown, scared the piss out of him...y'know the usual." 

"Frightening senior citizens. Nice." 

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small stack of cash, tied with a rubber band, and threw it to Edward. 

"Oh, and here's some of your money back," he said. "Even he agreed you overpaid." 

"Thanks..." she reluctantly replied. "Robbing them too." 

She put the money away, then stepped away from the window and began pacing a little, trying her hardest to find just the right words to say. Meanwhile Crey was busy making himself at home, first taking off his boots and sliding them over into the corner of the room. He stretched his legs and cracked the knuckles in his toes. 

"Listen, Crey..." she said, "...I'm sorry about whatever I said before. I think...I think things just got a little out of hand between us." 

"Ed, don't worry about it," he answered in a truly forgiving voice. "I mean, I was the one who lied to you." 

"I know, but I still could have taken the news a little better," she said, as she leaned against the wall opposite the bed. "It's just that I...what I mean to say is I...I-I-I...I...whoa." 

All words, either thought of spoken, lost any and all meaning when she looked at Crey again, just in time to see him strip his black shirt off his torso. It was of course not the first time Edward had seen him like this, but then she was more concerned with reaching town than checking out the goods. But now, they were in no hurry, leaving her ample time to indulge in the sight of Crey's breathtaking upper body physique. And now that she saw it with the actual intention of beholding it, she noticed for the first time just how good he looked without a shirt. 

_You're doing it again..._ the voice in her head told her. 

Usually that was enough to kick-start reality again, but this time it was no use. The power of his boyish good looks and Atlas anatomy had taken full control, and it wasn't about to let up. 

"What are you doing?" she asked. 

"It's a steambath around here," said Crey. "You were right, I'm gonna shrivel up into a six-foot raisin if I don't air out a little." 

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Edward queried. 

Her voice cracked on one syllable. Crey fortunately didn't notice. 

"Crey...you have been a huge help on this case," she said. "Wherever you learned to do what it is you do, I'd sure as hell like to visit. You've been willing to put up with a lot, and you've certainly put yourself in a good bit of danger for me, even if I haven't seemed very thankful for it. But I am, I just want you to know that. I mean, I can't imagine what all your friends back home must be thinking of you, out in the stars, taking down the bad guys..." 

"Actually, they helped talk me into doing this," he joked. 

"I see..." she said. "And what about your girlfriend?" 

Edward just about slapped herself silly. What on earth possessed her to say that!? 

Crey turned to her and gave her the oddest look. He swiveled his body over to the foot end of the bed and sort of smiled at her. 

"You think I've got a girlfriend?" 

Ed, having just dead-ended herself, choked on her own throat. 

"Well..." she stammered, "...I mean, I...I guess I just assumed you did...I mean, I think...I'd be pretty surprised if you didn't..." 

"Really?" he asked. "I'd figured you'd find it more surprising if I did have one." 

"Why would I think that?" she prattled. "Just because I pretend not to like a guy all that much doesn't mean I think absolutely the worst about him. I mean, for all I know you're the most well-liked guy on Earth, but how...how would I know unless I asked?" 

She could tell even better than Crey how horrible a job she was doing of concealing her pre-adolescent idiocy. She was sweating now, and not because of the heat...at least not in terms of room temperature anyway. 

"What about you?" Crey asked, playing right into it. 

"Me?" she asked. "I...I've got a few special people, but..." 

Crey rose to her feet and gradually stepped toward her. 

"But..." she kept talking. "...a boyfriend, wow...I don't think anyone's ever even mentioned that word to me... 

He stood directly in front of her, and he placed a hand on the wall next to her, leaning against it. 

"...before..." 

Crey moved in a little closer, and Edward could see a reflection of herself in his eyes, and she saw how moronic she looked, which only added to the sour taste of how backward she must have sounded. All her life, she never stuttered or stammered like this. Why, oh why now? 

He moved even closer, and he brought his left hand up and ran his fingers along the right side of her face. He brought his face to her left side, and he inhaled her scent like it was a drug, his nose sweeping against her cheek. His touch sent a shiver through her spine. 

"Please don't do this to me..." she whispered. 

"You've been doing it to me ever since you walked into the club that night," he whispered back. "Do you have any idea what it's like being around someone like you, Edward? You are a truly enchanting woman, and I think if a guy were ever to fall for you, he'd leave a hole in the ground six feet deep." 

He looked at her straight on, and their eyes locked together for what seemed like an eternity. 

He moved in closer once again, and Edward knew what he was going to attempt. She tried to back away, but the wall behind her left no room for escape. She had nowhere to go as Crey's lips brushed against her own. 

Another chill ran down her whole body, starting from her lips, filling her entire head, and then shooting down to her toes only shoot right back up again. Her eyes slipped shut as she let the feeling left over from his kiss linger on her face. The kiss itself didn't even last a second, but she would indubitably feel it and remember it forever. 

She opened her eyes and saw Crey still standing in front of her. 

"Wasn't I supposed to hate you?" she asked. 

He smiled. "I dunno," he answered. "Were you? 

He moved in for the kill again, and this time Edward did not resist. In fact, she leaned forward and met him halfway as they kissed again, and they kissed for much longer. Their lips repeatedly separated and then instantly came together again, while their arms wrapped around one another, constantly moving from one place to another on each other's bodies. 

Crey pressed her against the wall and buried his face against her collarbone, kissing her neck. 

His right hand reached behind her and grabbed one of the strings in the back of Edward's bikini top, and he slowly pulled at it, undoing the knot... 

********

Edward lay comfortably atop Crey, one hand around her waist and the other softly caressing her bare backside. She nuzzled her head against his chest, her hands resting on his shoulders. 

She moved up and held her head directly over his, and she lowered herself down and kissed him again. 

"Hi," she greeted. 

"Hi," he chucklingly replied. 

"This was..." she said, "...this was unexpected." 

"To say the least," Crey agreed. "But it sure puts an colorful ending to one hell of a day, doesn't it?" 

"Sure does," said Ed. "I don't know what to think of any of this. I have everything planned...at least I did once. I never planned this." 

"Who does?" he asked. "Sometimes it just happens." 

"I was taught to believe that nothing 'just happens'," she stated. "You control what happens in your life. No one else makes those decisions for you." 

"So you think this happened because you lost control?" 

"I don't know what to think," Edward answered. She slowly smiled. "But I do believe this may be one of those times when rational thought is pretty much ineffectual." 

She sat up straight, tensed her back, and stretched her arms over and behind her head, moaning with alleviation. Crey ran his hands along her thighs, while he eyed her from her head to her waist, relishing every model inch of her. He moved his hands from her thighs to the sides of her torso, and she laughed as she felt a little tickled. A few dots of color got caught in the corner of Crey's eye, and he looked at her right leg, where he caught a glimpse of the three small tattoos on her ankle. He perused them a moment, identifying the shapes; an airplane, a nail, and a heart...what did they represent? 

"Ed, can I ask you something?" he spoke up. "What do those tattoos on your leg mean?" 

Edward sighed when she heard the question. She had been so careful about what she told him about herself, while he was an open book to her curiosity about his life. Maybe now was the time to finally just let it go. She figured it might be nice to vent herself for once. 

"They stand for the three most important people I've known in my life," she said. "Back when I was thirteen, I spent a couple months on a spaceship with these three bounty hunters. They may not have liked me all that much when I first stepped on board, but I suppose in some weird, freakish way, they were the most complete family I had." 

She lowered her arms and crossed them in front of her chest, while she mentally retrospected each member of her clique. 

"There was Jet..." she accounted, "...he was the father of the group, and usually the one to clean up whatever mess the other two got into. Guess you call him the 'nursemaid' if you wanted to put them down. There was Spike, the smooth talker, the whoop-ass machine. I guess to me he was sort of like that older brother who just can't stand you." 

Edward stopped before she got to the final member of her _Bebop_ family. 

"Okay, so a Jet and a Spike," Crey said, matching her descriptions to the shapes printed on her leg. "And the heart?" 

"The heart..." she said, her tone growing increasingly cheerless, "...is a Valentine. Her name was...Faye. Faye Valentine. She was...she was a lot of things to me, Crey. At first, she was a little like an older sister, the kind that always sneaks out after midnight while Mom and Dad are sleeping, and she's counting on you not to tattle on her. But we were more like sisters who didn't talk to each other much...Then after I left the ship, she and I caught up with each other about a year later, and we decided to go out on our own, just us girls. Then she became a mother, a trainer, a mentor...taught me all her best moves, and all her best tricks...but most of all, I think she was like...not really a sister per se, but more like the other half of a better whole. Like...like that piece of you that was missing your whole life that you're lucky enough to find at all, and if you ever lost it, you'd be doomed to spend the rest of your life unfinished...just a fragment of something greater." 

Crey listened intently, feeling a little sorry he wanted to know at all. 

"But you did lose it," he finished for her. 

"I didn't lose it," answered Edward, glancing off into empty space. "It was taken from me." 

He finally understood. "So that's why you want Double-E." 

"Yeah, it is," she said. "It's the oldest excuse in the book, but I don't think revenge is so menial an objective." 

"I shouldn't have asked," he apologized. "It's none of my business, I shouldn't have--" 

"It's all right," she interrupted. "In fact, it actually feels pretty good to tell someone after so long. And come to think of it, I am pretty glad it was you...That song you told me about before...'Candle in the Wind', right?" 

He nodded. 

"You said it was your favorite because it reminded you of your mother," she said. "Well, now it's my favorite...because it reminds me of the closest thing I had to one." 

Crey paused. He let her words sink in, then looked off to the side, avoiding her eyes. 

"There was something I didn't tell you about her," he said. "My mom...she didn't just die...She was murdered too." 

"Estevez?" 

"No, not him. They never found the guy. I guess maybe that's part of the real reason I'm after him. I thought my brother was reason enough, but I suppose I'm doing this as some sort of measure of revenge for her too. Even if it he wasn't the one who killed her, just getting rid of him for her...it's something to look forward to. I lost my only family because of people like Estevez." He looked her in the eyes again. "I wanna see to it no one else does." 

Edward smiled. "That sounds pretty decent, Crey." 

He smiled back at her and sat up to look at her from eye level, wrapping her arms around her backside again, and hers around his. 

"Listen...tomorrow, you and I are gonna head to Blue Crow," he said, "we're gonna find Sarah Meyer, and then you and I are gonna find Erik Estevez, and we're gonna take care of him permanantly...together." 

Together...the word reverberated a thousand times inside Edward's head. She spent so long planning how she would reserve all for herself the pleasure of ending Double-E's life, but something about the notion of pulling the trigger alongside someone with just as many good reasons to kill as she sounded awfully tempting. 

She smiled again. "Together." 

She leaned forward and kissed him again, and their lips remained bonded together as they lay back down upon the bed. Ed reached over to the nightstand and turned out the light.  


  
  


**_SHE LEAVES ME IN A COOL COOL SWEAT..._**


	6. Jaded

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 6:**  
**_Jaded_**  


If Tim Burton was searching for the set of his next film, the city of Blue Crow on the frigid moon of Callisto would have been the perfect pick. From the eternally overcast sky, to the snow-blanketed rooftops, to the devil-may-care expressions on the faces of virtually all the citizens, the place oozed despair. Edward and Crey were both well-dressed for the environment, so enduring the cold was no obstacle, but neither of them could feel any warmth of heart for this sorry place. 

The bounty hunters walked together together along the white-crusted sidewalk, the only background music provided by the crunch of the snow underneath their feet, and the occasional winter-worn engine of a passing automobile down the salted street. 

"So gray and despairing, strong as steel but collapsed inside," Crey poetically remarked, "the Crow laughs under a street light, a voodoo smile of one who lived and died and still yet lives..." 

"James O'Barr," Ed identified the quote. 

"Seemed proper," he said. "This place is a lot gloomier than I remember." He paused to let his body vibrate off a random wintry chill. "Colder too." 

Edward took hold of his arm and draped it over her shoulders, thus bringing herself closer to him. 

"This any better?" she asked. 

Crey beamed at the spontaneous romantic gesture. "A little." 

The moment was ruined, unfortunately, when a stray pedestrian bumped into and shoved his way in between them without so much as an "Excuse me". 

"Well, this place just sucks the fun out of everything, doesn't it?" Ed grumbled. "Let's do ourselves a favor and find this Meyer-person fast!" 

"I hear that," he concurred. "Don't worry, I think we're almost to where that guy said she lived. Good thing we ain't got a huge margin for error. There's one woman in a town full of men, everybody knows where she's at...Come to think of it, in a whole city full of guys, she must be pretty popular." 

"Crey...!" she reviled, almost retching at the implication. 

They turned a corner, as instructed by their informant's directions. The fifty-foot reach of road led to a dead end, bordered off by a brick wall, enveloped in an assortment of weathered posters. On one side at the very end there was a small supermarket, and directly across from it was an apartment building, where out front an aged red convertible was parked, the top secured overhead of course. The fresh tire tracks, along with the lack of snow covering the vehicle, indicated it hadn't been there long. 

"She'd better be around here," said Edward. "Because we don't have much more ground to cover." 

Then, as if on cue, a lone woman, conspicuous enough for her gender and even more so for her beauty, exited the supermarket, two bags of groceries in her arms. About Edward's height, with long brown hair dyed a deep red, and dressed in a thick fur coat and black leather boots. She crossed the street and headed for the convertible, setting one bag on the roof so she could reach for her keys. 

"Speak of the devil," Crey commented. 

"So how do you wanna do this?" Ed asked. "The subtle way, or the ass-first-into-trouble way?" 

"I've always had a liking for the ass-first approach," he replied with optimism. 

"Cool." 

They walked to a distance of twenty-five feet from the car. 

"SARAH MEYER?" Edward called. 

With a front of shock, the woman looked up from her groceries and stared in the bounty hunters' directions. 

"We'd like to have a word with you," Ed finished. 

Meyer first tossed the remaining bag of groceries aside, then nearly ripped the driver's side door from its hinges and dove inside, then pulled herself back out and brandished a shotgun. She popped in a few shells and took aim at the troublemakers. 

Crey cursed up a storm of expletives as he charged for cover. He made his way to refuge behind a mailbox on the opposite side of the street, while Edward jumped backwards and took shelter in between two buildings. They both made it just in time to avoid Meyer's first ear-splitting shot, which whizzed past where they had been standing and tore a chunk out of a street light off in the distance. At the same time, every other person on the scene went to their hands knees and kissed pavement. Meyer kept right on shooting, taking turns aiming at Edward and Crey's hiding places. Ed kept a cool head as Meyer's shots merely scraped pieces of bricks and paints from the wall next to her, while she took out her own firearm and loaded in a fresh clip. Crey, on the other hand, yelped in fright whenever each shot coming his way shredded part of his shielding mailbox. 

When the shots stopped coming, Edward took that as her opening. She darted out of the alleyway and took quick aim. Before she started shooting, Meyer saw her with the gun out, and ducked next to the car and pushed out the driver's side door, using it as a shield as the bounty hunter let her own bullets fly. 

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Edward pulled the trigger relentlessly, landing each slug into the surface of the car door, one even smashing the window, until she the clip ran empty. 

After she heard the final explosion, Edward didn't waste time reloading, but instead pocketed her weapon and sprinted forward, while Meyer started reaching for more shotgun shells. Ed ran straight at the car, and she used the backside of a cowering bystander as a stepping stone, sending herself flying through the air. Meyer stood up and aimed the shotgun at her opponent again, only to have it kicked out of her hands by Ed's flying attack. As soon as Edward landed, Meyer took a swing, which the bounty hunter easily dodged. Meyer continued with a uppercut, and Ed simply dodged sideways. She spun around and delivered a kick to Meyer's stomach, then another to the chest, sending her stumbling into the driver's seat of her own car. 

As Edward hopped forward with another kick, Meyer lifted her legs out of the way and pulled the car door shut, once again using it as armor from Edward's assault. Ed ignored the defense and reached inside the window, grabbing Meyer by the arm. Meyer launched her other hand out and punched Edward in the face, knocking her away from the vehicle. Meyer turned the ignition key and started the engine without trouble, then shoved the gas pedal to the floor and rocketed the car out of its parking space. 

As the car began barreling towards the intersection, Crey peeked out from behind his hiding place and saw an old man, plainly oblivious to the ensuing violence, crossing the street that Meyer was headed straight for, and it was more than obvious she wasn't going to slow down for any pedestrians, elderly or not. 

Crey bolted forward and tackled the old man, rolling himself and the would-be casualty out of harm's way just as the car whisked past and slid around the corner. 

Ed ran after the car, stopping at the corner when she realized an on-foot chase was useless. She needed transportation, and RedTail was too far away to get to in time. She needed some wheels...now. Across the street, there was a used auto parts salesman attempting to sell an old motorcycle to a gullible young man. When she had passed that area before, she heard the salesman rev the engine a few times, and by the sound of it, the machinery was in pretty good condition, despite its wear and tear and the poor conditions it was kept in. 

Well, it wasn't Swordfish II, but it would suffice. 

While the salesman and his customer were still busy gawking at the gun fight that had taken place, Edward ran toward the motorcycle and leapfrogged over the rear end, landing herself right in the seat. She promptly turned on the engine and let it loose, and she roared after her target, while the salesman, left only to watch his merchandise go flying down the street, started screaming for her to come back. 

"I'mreallysorryaboutthisI'llbringitbackIsweeeeeeeeaaarrr!" she called. 

She turned the last corner she saw Meyer's car go around, and she saw a last little glimpse of its tail lights further down the same road. Edward sped up the motorcycle to its maximum speed, and she promptly began to gain on the getaway vehicle. Meyer obviously felt no sympathy for anyone or anything in her way, for she zoomed ahead without regard for what might hit her bumper, and as a result a good many pieces of debris were strewn about the road in her wake, including smashed wooden crates, the doors of cars that had the misfortune to be open wide when Meyer drove by, and even some human bodies. Edward followed ceaselessly, weaving in between the debris and the bodies, and taking extra care not to hit any other gaping spectators. 

As Edward got ever closer, Meyer heard the roar of the motorcycle's engine, and turned her head to see the bounty hunter closing in on her rear fender. She looked forward again and depressed the gas again, but gasped and ducked her head behind the steering wheel as she saw the oncoming obstacle. 

Crossing the street in front of her, a pair of movers were carrying a long, thick sheet of window glass, and holding it with the flat surface facing upward. Meyer's car plowed through the intersection, and fortunately for the movers, they were standing on either side of the vehicle as it passed. The glass, however, shattered upon impact with the windshield, and the shards tore it and the retractable roof right off the car! 

Ed noticed the swarm of flickering lights ahead, and she swerved off to the side as she saw a shower of broken glass littering the avenue. Lucklessly, her chosen path took her straight into a group of onlookers, which thankfully dispersed as she came forward, but not quickly enough that Edward didn't have to weave through them like a forest of tightly-packed trees. She made her way through the crowd, but right ahead of her, and with no means of avoiding it, there lay a blockade on the sidewalk. 

With merely a second to react, Edward squeezed her eyes shut, and when she felt the right moment approach, with all her might she yanked upward on the motorcycle's handlebar. 

The bike lifted five feet off the ground, safely hurdling clear of the blockade. 

The tires squealed as they hit the pavement again, and the bike wobbled before a reasonable amount of balance was reestablished. As Edward steered back onto the road, she popped her eyes open again, breathed a gigantic sigh of comfort at her achievement. A raving grin crossed her face, and she joyously shrieked into the night sky:   
  
"WOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOO!!" 

She turned up the gas again, and she continued speeding after the target. 

After a few near misses and a few sharp turns, Ed finally managed to catch up to the convertible, and closed in from the right side. Meyer caught sight of her, and started swerving the vehicle toward her, forcing Edward to back off. Again she steered closer, hoping to grab the handle on the passenger's door and rip open an entrance. But again, Meyer swerved, and Ed backed away. Realizing how useless this was, Ed decided to take another approach. Up ahead, there was a traffic light hanging from an electric chord suspended between two opposite buildings. Taking out her gun, Edward took extremely careful aim, then fired two successive shots, severing the wire on either side of the traffic light. The light plummeted to the pavement and fragmented upon impact, spreading more broken glass and other assorted pieces of destroyed machinery. 

Realizing she had to avoid the mess she made, Edward steered off to the side and took a detour, veering down the right side of a fork in the road. Meanwhile, Meyer's car ran right over the cracked pieces of the traffic light, and two of her tires were punctured. The car began to jiggle, and her speed greatly decreased. 

Still, Meyer felt relief when she believed she had successfully evaded the bounty hunter. 

It was short-lived. 

Edward sped down the road she had chosen, and remembering a map of the area she took care to learn before, she followed the path to where the two roads would eventually become one again. The tires screeched once again as Edward made the sharpest of turns, nearly rotating a full 180 degrees to change directions. 

Her calculations were right on the money. Down at the other end of the trail, Sarah Meyer's car hobbled forward, the driver yet unaware of her own approaching doom. But as soon as she heard the motorcycle's roar ahead of her, she slammed on the gas pedal again. The car was almost bouncing thanks to the two deflated tires, and its speed increased little, but all Meyer was concerned with was wiping out the nearing bike and its rider in this dangerous game of chicken. 

But chicken wasn't the game Edward had in mind. 

About mid way between the two opposing ends, over on the side of the road was another pile of crates, along with a long, thick plank of wood sitting next to it, one end sitting on the top crate, the other on the ground. Together, they made the perfect makeshift ramp. Ed steered over to the appropriate side of the road, and she rolled the bike along the face of the plank of off the upward end. The plank snapped in two and the crates flew in different directions, while Edward and the motorcycle were launched into the air! 

The bike spun like a drill as it flew over the convertible. When it turned completely upside down, Ed jumped onto the seat and pushed off, projecting herself from it. By then, Meyer was directly underneath her. Edward reached down and grabbed Meyer by the collar and pulled her from the driver's seat, while the car itself kept going forward. 

Edward and Meyer both crashed to the ground, quickly followed by the airborne motorcycle. The car, sans driver, pivoted and collided with a wall. 

Meyer wasn't certain how long she was on the pavement before she finally mustered the strength to get back up. All that mattered was she was on her feet, and the overly tenacious bounty hunter was still on her back. She started to run away, but before she got too far, she saw the bounty hunter's male partner entering the area. He spotted her and ran in her direction. 

Panicking, Meyer turned and started to run in the opposite direction, but before she even took a single step, she saw Edward leaping at her. She was almost beheaded by a flying clothesline, and she hit the pavement again. While she lay half-conscious, Edward pulled her gun and pointed it at the target. 

"You even think of moving and I'll blow you a third nostril!" she barked, nearly out of breath. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Meyer moaned, wiping a hand over her bruised head. 

Crey ran up to Edward and surveyed the carnage, whistling in wonder. 

"Jesus Christ!" he cursed. "Are you all right!?" 

Ed responded by going limp and falling forward. Crey caught her well in time and put her back on her feet. 

"Never been better," she replied. 

********

Sarah Meyer was shoved into the chair. She tried to get up, but both Crey and Edward pushed her back down again. Crey pulled up a chair in front of her, sat back in it, and held up one leg, pressing his foot against Meyer's chest to keep her pinned. Edward took her own interrogation stance, hovering over Meyer like a gargoyle. The only available light came from a single bulb hanging directly over Edward, the resulting shadows making her look all the fiercer. 

"Sarah Meyer..." she said. "At last we meet." 

"The name ain't Meyer," the prisoner protested. 

"Oh, so I suppose you were in such a huge hurry 'cause you didn't want to get mistaken for her, is that it?" 

"It's happened before." 

"Awright, I'll play along," said Ed. "If you're not Sarah Meyer, who in the blue hell are you?" 

"Bond..." Meyer answered. "Jane Bond." 

Ed cracked a weak smile and turned to Crey. "Wallet," she ordered. 

Crey reached into his coat and extracted a small light brown leather wallet. He handed it to Edward, who immediately opened it up and began cleaning it out, letting its contents spill onto the floor: some credit cards, a business card from a mechanic's shop, some coupons from the market, an unopened condom - Edward deemed it in everyone's best interests not to ask - and an assorted collection of cash woolongs. She tossed the wallet again when she found what she was looking for - a driver's license. 

"Well strip me to my skivvies and spank me raw!" Ed exclaimed, her tone clearly forced. "Your name really is Jane Bond! Says so right here on your license! Great picture, by the way." 

Crey smiled and reached into his coat again, this time pulling out a small stack of more driver's licenses. Edward took and examined them, and raised both eyebrows when she saw Meyer's picture on all of them, each one with a different hairstyle and makeup selection. 

"Ah, but what is this?" she asked conqueringly. "Plenty of you to go around! Talk about an identity crisis, huh? Lots of interesting names you've got here. Let's see...ooh, here's Peta Parker...and here's Connie Macleod...Susan Little...Frida Baggins...Tara Minh-Ayter..." She burst into full-bellied laughter when she slipped to the next one. "Oh, man! Get a load of this one, Crey...Tonya Soprano." 

_"You woke up this mornin'..."_ he sang in response. 

"What do you want from me!?" Meyer demanded. 

Edward's jolly mood came to an instantaneous halt, and she tossed away the cards and leaned in closer. 

"Now that we've established that your claimed identity is bullshit," she hissed, "let's get right down to it, shall we?" 

"Oh, let me guess!" Meyer jumped ahead. "You're after Erik Estevez, right? You're only about the fiftieth sack of crap bounty hunter to come around asking about him. I'll give you all due credit, though, you're the first one to actually catch up to me. But you mind my asking just what exactly you plan on doing with him were you to actually find him?" 

"Well, I can't speak for my associate here," Ed answered, "but I was thinking maybe I'd hang him from the top of the Allen-Bradley Clock by his vocal chords. How's that sound to you, music man?" 

"Heard it does wonders for a sore throat," Crey replied. 

Meyer commented with the exhalation of "Puh!" 

"It's always the same with you people," she revolted. "Every one of you thinks you have a chance of taking him out. If you were able to get this far, you know by now what's happened to him, don't you!? Unless you've got a couple vials of Bloody Eye of your own to toss around, I'd give you about as good a chance as any of the last twenty cowboys he's left in a pool of their own blood." 

"Well if that happens, what do you have to worry about?" asked Edward. "So what have you got to lose by just telling us where he's going next?" 

"I have no idea." 

"I don't think you heard me--" 

"I heard you just fine, girlfriend," Meyer interrupted. "And I'm telling you, face to face, I don't know where he's doing." 

"Don't give us that!" Crey interjected. "We know you were hangin' with Estevez before he went AWOL from the Syndie, and you broke it off with him when you found out what he was doing! Now what was it you saw? A map, a list of targets, what?" 

"I saw a few of his targets," she said. "But whatever it is I remember, he's already been there, done that, blown it up. There's nothing more I know about." 

"What's the pattern, Sarah?" Ed asked coldly. 

"Don't know." 

"I think you do." 

"You can think whatever the hell you want. Makes no difference to me, I say I don't know, I don't know. I'm sorry if that's not the answer you want, but it's what I got. Take it or leave it." 

A dead silence filled the room, broken only by the faint hum of a car engine passing by outside. Edward stared with pure dislike at this arctic woman sitting in the chair, who returned the expression with proportional hostility. 

"Crey, move," she said. 

Crey lowered the foot and got up, taking a stance against the back wall. 

Edward and Meyer continued glaring at one another for what seemed like ages. Then the staring contest came to end when Edward drew her gun, aimed low, and pumped a single bullet into Meyer's right leg. Crey jumped in surprise, and Meyer screamed as she fell from the chair and collapsed on the floor, clutching her bleeding appendage. 

"What are you doing!?" she cried. 

"There are twelve rounds left in this gun," Edward glacially retorted. "If you don't start telling me the truth, you're going to feel each and every one of them before the last one kills you. Do you understand?" 

She aimed in another direction and fired a second shot, this time into Meyer's left leg. Meyer shrieked in agony, one hand digging into each limb. 

"You're crazy!" she wailed. 

"And violent to boot," Ed added. 

Another shot was delivered to Meyer's left thigh. She no longer had the vitality to keep screaming, while three puddles of blood stained herself and the floor. 

"Ed, for God's sake--!" Crey pleaded, as he started to move toward her. 

Without looking, she held up the gun and pointed it at his head. 

"Back off, or the next one's yours!" she growled. 

He stepped back and remained silent. 

"What's it gonna be, Sarah?" she continued, aiming the gun at the floored body again. "Are you really that willing to suffer and die for your ex-boyfriend?" 

BLAM! A bullet went into Meyer's right arm, just below the elbow. 

"Why are you doing this!?" she began to sob. 

"Because I'm sick to death of running into people who live under the misconception that they can lie to me and get away with it!" Edward boomed. "Because there are plenty of people out there who could tell me what I wanted to know about Erik Estevez, and I had to strong-arm it out of them. Well, I'm tried of strong-arming. I'm just gonna skip ahead to the ultimatum: you talk, you live. You tight-lip it, you die. Now how does that sound to you?" 

With her remaining arm, Meyer outstretched her hand and extended her middle finger. 

"Screw you!" she reviled. 

Ed knelt down and placed the barrel of the gun against the middle finger's knuckle. 

"You want to enjoy the use of that hand anymore, I'd keep phrases like that out of my vocabulary if I were you," she said. "How many fingers am I going to have to remove, babe? 'Cause I've plenty of shots left to pluck 'em off until...Whad'ya know! Wan outta piddies. You ever tried steering a car with just a stump?" 

"Wait, wait!" Meyer cried, trying to push the gun away from her. "Just before he blew up World Energy, I saw a list of what he was doing. I don't know what his pattern is, but I saw where he was going and when he was gonna hit each place." 

"Where's the next one?" asked Ed. 

"The Aldrin Hill Power Plant," she named. "On Ganymede...it's near the capitol city. He's gonna be there tomorrow. That's all I know! I swear to God, lady, that's all I know!" 

Edward listened to the woman's desperate voice and her beseeching whimpers, and watched the tears start to stream down her face while it scrunched in fear and pain. She was almost without enough energy to keep her head up, so she surely wouldn't have had the energy to keep fibbing. 

She rose to her feet and holstered the gun. 

"Crey, call an ambulance," she ordered, as she tranquilly walked out the door. 

********

Things remained conditionally silent in RedTail's cockpit as they sped through hyperspace, until Crey finally worked up the guts to vocalize what had been plaguing him the last hour: 

"You scared the shit out of me in there." 

"That makes two of us," Ed answered. 

"So even you realize just how crazy that was!?" he asked. 

"Crazy?" she quoted. "That's putting it politely." 

"This whole mess is startin' to worry me, Ed," warned Crey. "I realize what Estevez did to you was a crushing blow, just like me, but I think what went on back there was crossing the line." 

"Faye would disagree," Edward replied. "In fact, chances are she'd have been first to suggest it." 

"Edward, you're not Faye Valentine!" he annotated. "You don't have to use the same methods as all the other bounty hunters you've known. I don't think Spike and Jet would object too much if you got the job done without all the damage they managed to rack up in the process. Yeah, I looked into the backgrounds of your old partners, and I know now where you're comin' from in all this. And just because they taught you everything you know, that doesn't mean you can't still be your own person along the way." 

"Are you really that concerned?" she asked. 

"Would I be saying all this if I wasn't!?" 

"Well there's no need for you to be." 

"Like hell!" he cursed. "After what I saw in there, I have this deep, sinking feeling that once we get to Aldrin Hill, you're gonna walk in every room in the place, both guns drawn and goin' off!" 

"And that isn't a good plan?" 

"Let me extend that last part. Both guns drawn and goin' off, regardless of who is the room! And even when you find Estevez, you pull the trigger, land that shot in the head...Truth be told, Ed, I'm afraid of what that could do to you." 

"Correct me if I'm wrong," she said indignantly, "but isn't the entire point of this mission to kill that rat bastard for all the people he's murdered?" 

"Yeah..." said Crey, "...but not become murderers ourselves in the process!" 

"We walk in, we shoot him dead. What better way to get it done?" 

"Funny you should ask," he replied. "I've been goin' over this in my head the last few days, and I think I've come up with a pretty good course of action that'll get our revenge...and after all's said and done have the two of us sittin' pretty with fifty million woolongs each." 

She had been looking for an excuse to hand him that "What are you, stupid?" look again. He just gave it to her. 

"A prisoner has to be delivered alive for the bounty to be rewarded, you idiot," she berated. "And I don't plan on letting him live long enough for him to see the inside of a jail sell." 

"This I know," said he. "But did you know that whether or not a prisoner actually makes it to jail alive is irrelevant as far as the money is concerned?" 

She raised an eyebrow. "No, I didn't." 

"And did you know that on average, at least twenty-five percent of captured bounty heads are killed before they even get sentencing?" 

"No...no, I didn't know that either. What exactly are you suggesting?" 

"Well, it'll be a simple three-step process," he explained. "One, find Estevez and subdue him. The whole Bloody Eye thing will make that the hard part, but it's not impossible. Two, we keep him knocked out long enough to take him to a cheap surgeon, one that can be paid to keep his yap shut. And three, we have him surgically implant of these into his skull..." 

He popped his hand out of his pocket and tossed one of his black capsules to her. It had a yellow stripe along the middle, labeling it a heating mechanism. 

"We hand Estevez over to ISSP, and after we get the money," he continued, "one flip of the switch, then poof! Erik Estevez dies of spontaneous human combustion." 

Ed started laughing. "And the surgery scars, along with the spent shell inside his head won't give them a little hint that we screwed them over once they do the autopsy?" 

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it," Crey said. "The surgeon can just work where Estevez had the last bit of surgery done to him, so that'll cover up for the scars, and this kind of capsule disintegrates once it's been used up. No scars, so shell, no evidence. Spontaneous human combustion." 

She chuckled a little, then took time to seriously consider the option. 

"Are you sure it could work?" she asked. 

"It'd be painful as hell, and the cops will have no clue how it happened," he said. "It's flawless." 

"Well it sure isn't flawless," she corrected him. "I mean...it does sound a bit messy." 

"They've got mops," Crey joked. "Let them clean up the brain matter." 

"I just don't know about this..." said Edward. "I'd feel a much better sense of closure if I just walked in and capped him one in the head. All this sneaking around you're talking about...I just don't know. I mean, one of the most important things I was taught was never to cross the cops, no matter how stupid they seem. And I know, Crey, one of my old partners is ex-ISSP, and he's the single smartest man I've ever known." 

"The cops won't know a thing!" Crey insisted. "Hell, Double-E won't even know! Ed, I'm telling you, we can get rid of Erik Estevez forever, and we walk away clean with a hundred million woolongs in our pockets! Now tell me that doesn't wet your appetite even a little!" 

Ed remained quiet as she ran the equations in her head. A smile came upon her at the thought of Erik Estevez running around in circles, flapping his arms like a decapitated chicken, screaming like a little girl after his head was set aflame. 

"Are you absolutely certain we can make this work?" she asked. 

"I've pulled off plenty of pranks twice as complex as this," he said. "Two words, girl: easy money." 

"'Easy money'," she restated. "Those words are hardly synonymous." 

"Then it's only a matter of rewriting the dictionary," he shrugged. "So what do you say? And think good and hard about this...Would you be willing to scrap the idea of just shooting the guy in the head - a quick, relatively painless death, I might add - so you can wait a few days, ensure he suffers a violent, unbearable, excruciating demise, while you take home a hundred mill for your patience?" 

She envisioned the live burning body of Double-E, now accompanied by the fancy of herself and Crey ballet-dancing in a shower of cash, and Edward cracked a malicious grin, wide and Grinch-esque, one that nearly made her face match the tattoo on her left shoulder. 

"Edward likes the sound of that..." she simmered. 

********

Have you ever heard a story that goes like this? 

A man went on a hunt and severely injured his leg. He crawled through the savanna without any means to treat the wound, it became infected, and the leg began to rot. Finally, as Death was approaching, a rescue plane showed up and brought him on board. As they took off, he looked below him and saw a land of pure white. The place glistening in the sun was the summit of a snow-covered mountain, and the name of the mountain was Kilimanjaro. And the man said to himself, "That's where I'm headed." 

Jet hated that story. 

And unfortunately, he was applying its words to a few more people than he would have cared to. 

Men think nothing but of their past when Death comes for them, like they were desperately searching for any shred of proof that they were ever truly alive. There was one man Jet knew who he begged to consider that before he went off to meet his fate, and seven years following the man's demise, Jet could only wish he had been able to do more to influence his friend's actions. But with one less man on board the _Bebop_ and one more grave in a distant Martian cemetery, Jet's only replacement for the human absence was a reinforced wall of regret. Hardly a suitable surrogate. 

The man once known as the Black Dog found it impossible to relax ever since Edward left the week before. He tried to work off his frustrations by finishing the ship's repairs; he did that two days ago and it brought him no satisfaction. He tried going after a local bounty he'd given up on weeks prior; he caught the fugitive, and the measly 850,000 woolong reward was little restitution. He even tried trimming a few bonsai trees, the one thing that never failed to ease his mind; he practically turned one into a pile of popsicle sticks before he found that would be of no help either. 

So now, he was once again left alone with that mountain of mishap, for he'd failed to sway his young friend from her hazardous path. Left alone with the glass fixed in his hand, the alcoholic liquid it contained long gone. He would have gotten up to get more, but he figured, why bother? It'll just become empty again anyway. 

Empty... 

He mentally repeated the word over and over again, even after its meaning began to mirror its definition. Something about that word... 

Empty... 

Something about that word felt so...felt so...befitting. 

"Maybe this is what true sadness is..." he said, to no one in particular. 

His contemplation was demurred by a sudden boom of radio static. Startled, he nearly jumped off the couch, then relaxed and took a look at the computer terminal sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He sat back down and pressed a finger on the screen, hitting a flashing button marked "ACCEPT TRANSMISSION". 

"Hello?" he called out, only to receive more static. "Hello? Is anybody there?" 

He looked over to the side to see where the call was coming from. It was in Ganymede, within two or three miles of _Bebop_ in fact, which didn't explain the poor reception. It was a private line, emanating from...The Aldrin Hill Power Plant? Why would anybody from there be calling Jet? 

"Hello!?" he called out again. 

Finally, through all the static, a single, weak female voice answered: 

"Jet..." 

Upon hearing the voice, he looked at the transmission's frequency, and his eyes popped as he realized who it was. 

"I...I think I'm gonna need that permanent backup now..." Edward's voice wheezed. 

"Ed!?" Jet hailed. "Edward! All you all right!?" 

He heard something fall. Like someone dropping the radio after passing out. 

"EDWARD!" 

He ran from the living room and zoomed toward the hangar, armed with a feeling of deep dismay, chaperoned by the hope that we wasn't too drunk to pilot the Hammerhead.

********

Upon passing through the gateway exit, they paid the hyperspace fee and instantly flashed on toward the capitol city. They had lost about five hours traveling from Callisto to Ganymede, and it was already the day that Sarah Meyer had advertised Estevez would make his move on Aldrin Hill. And since there was no mention of what time Estevez would strike, Edward felt haste was imperative. 

Some slight alleviation came when they saw the building still in one piece. Estevez either wasn't there yet or he hadn't planted his explosives. 

"By the way," Edward said as she landed RedTail on the parking lot. "I picked this up back on Callisto. I think you're gonna need it." 

She unwrapped a small package and withdrew a bright, shiny new gun. She handed it to Crey, who reluctantly accepted it. 

"Let's do this." 

Weapons in hand, they ran to the door and kicked it in, and what they saw left little to the imagination. One second inside, and they already saw bodies. Two of them, simple technicians who were apparently on break when the criminal entered. Their throats had been slit, and a fading set of red footprints led away from the puddles of blood, pointing the perpetrator's direction upstairs. 

He was here. 

They ran up the stairs, only to find more and more bodies along the way. They split up down a pair of hallways, kicking in doors and finding behind them either another body, a live one who had no idea what was going on, or nothing at all. Whatever living souls they found, they ordered out of the building, then continued going up. 

"Ed!" cried Crey, inspecting a body. "I think this guy's still alive!" 

Ed rushed over and knelt down next to Crey, while the messy individual beneath them stirred a little. 

"Which way did he go?" asked Edward. 

"C--..." the technician coughed. "C--...C--...C-Control Room...A..." 

He went limp. Nothing more could be done for him. 

Ed saw a map of the structure over on the wall. She ran to it, took a second to memorize the necessary path, then bolted down the hall again, ignoring Crey's pleas for her to wait up. 

One last hallway. Down at the very end of it, a single, thick steel doorway stood, with its label painted in giant red letters, "CONTROL ROOM A". Ed reached the door and punched her hand at the wall, almost driving her fist right through the opening mechanism. 

The door slid open, and on the other end of the room, a single man stood before a long control panel, surveying the contents of another room closed up by an impenetrable glass window. On the other side, a complicated series of electronics and machinery was laid out, and the man - six feet tall, well-built, blond-haired with sections of it dyed multiple colors - worked some controls and placed a large detonation device in the very heart of the workings. 

Erik Estevez turned around, expecting to see just another foolish man trying to foil his plans, but froze when he saw Edward, her expression darker than the blackest midnight, eyes burning brighter and harsher than the fires of Hades itself, and her lips only slightly parted, revealing her tightly clenched and continuously grinding teeth. 

She raised her gun, aiming right between the eyes. 

Double-E finally recognized the intruding woman, and the look of shock was replaced with a sick, perverted smile. 

"Hello there, Baby Bird," he greeted. 

"Do you know what day it is, Estevez?" Edward asked. "It's the nineteenth of August. Exactly one year ago today, you murdered Faye Valentine... you murdered my sister, Estevez. And since then, I've devoted every waking moment to making you pay." 

"I'm flattered," he said. 

Crey DeSanto finally caught with the action, running into the room and taking a stand next to Edward, his gun drawn and pointed at the criminal as well. Estevez perused the newcomer, then smiled at him. 

"Crey...now who went and let you in here?" 

"Wassup, Double-E?" Crey replied, his tone just as ominous as Ed's. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" 

"This is the end of the line, Erik," said Edward. "This time, there's no escape plans, no last minute turns of events, no one coming to your rescue. This time, you pay. For all the people you murdered, all the lives you destroyed. And most of all, Estevez, for Faye...and for Crey's brother." 

Estevez's expression brightened slightly at the mention of that last victim. He seemed to go over it in his mind, then he looked away, closed his eyes, and started to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a laughter, and laughter into absolute personal hilarity. 

Edward couldn't understand it at all. 

"Oh, and what is so god damn funny, bright eyes!?" she demanded. 

Estevez eventually calmed down, and he looked Ed in the eyes, still chortling a bit. He waited until he was passive enough to speak intelligibly, tried and failed a few times, then finally stopped laughing altogether, but kept that sick grin of his. 

"You stupid little girl," he panted. "I _am_ Crey's brother." 

The entire environment shattered around Edward when she heard those words. She saw the pieces of a broken mirror fall and crackle more upon the invisible ground, and everywhere around her, the pieces of the mirror reflected not herself, but the scene she was witnessing. She heard the words repeat, and she could see herself and her dumbfounded appearance in a thosuand ruptured shards. 

"Crey..." she said. "What's he--" 

She turned toward him as she spoke, but as soon as she looked... 

SMACK! 

...Crey turned to her and whipped his gun-holding hand, knocking the handle of his firearm against her head. 

Edward toppled to the floor, her gun released from her hand and sent sliding across the metal. 

"What the hell took you so long!?" Estevez demanded. 

"I got a little sidetracked!" Crey defended. "Besides, I had to make sure she bought everything. You got the timer?" 

"Do I ever forget it?" Estevez answered. 

He reached into his nearby backpack and pulled out a small clock, with the preset allotment of twenty minutes displayed in digital numbers. Crey took the device and secured it to the face of the control panel, disconnected and reconnected a few wires here and there, then pushed a white button on the side of the clock and started the timer. The twenty minutes turned to nineteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds, and continued decreasing from there. 

"Boom time," Erik quipped. "Come on, let's beat it." 

He picked up the backpack and strolled out, with Crey close behind him. One his way out, he stopped and bowed down next to the unconscious Edward and planted one last quick kiss on her lips. 

"Goodbye, Norma Jean," he bid her. 

Out he went. 

Edward awoke a few seconds later, her body drained of all energy. She saw the timer on the control panel, and she instantly knew she had nowhere near enough time to crawl out of here, which would had been her only option. 

She rolled onto her backside, and she winced as she felt something hard underneath her. 

Wait... 

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a fist-sized brown object - a two-way radio. 

Jet. 

She rolled over again so she could look at the communicator, and she flipped up the top panel and pressed what she hoped was the right combination of buttons. At first she got nothing but static. Maybe she'd dialed wrong. Then again, it was the only number she knew of that she remembered Jet would answer to, so whether he had changed his number and failed to mention it to her or he simply wasn't answering the phone, one could say she was up the proverbial Shit Creek. 

Then, an answer: 

"Hello?" a deep voice summoned through the static. "Hello? Is anybody there?" 

Edward attempted to answer back, but her vigor was just about depleted, and that included vocal communication. 

"Hello!?" 

At last, she feebly uttered back: 

"Jet...I...I think I'm gonna need that permanent backup now..." 

And that was the very last thing she could do before her body gave up on her.   
  


  


**_EVERYTHING YOU SEE IS A BLUR..._**


	7. The River of Dreams, Part I

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 7:**  
**_The River of Dreams (Part I)_**  


Hold fast to dreams   
For if dreams die   
Life is a broken-winged bird   
That cannot fly 

Hold fast to dreams   
For when dreams go   
Life is a barren field   
Frozen with snow 

-- Langston Hughes   


  


_Sailing down behind the sun_  
_Waiting for my prince to come_  
_Praying for the healing rain_  
_To restore my soul again_

_Just a toerag on the run_  
_How did I get here? What have I done?_  
_When will all my hopes arise?_  
_How will I know him?_  
_When I look in my father's eyes_

  


A beautiful day out on the Earth frontier. The weather was better than average, there was scarcely a cloud in the sky, and the sun was shining like a freshly-plucked pearl. 

Then all of a sudden, a shadow started to form on the ground. It didn't seem to be coming from anywhere, at least not while it remained a large blurry spot that discolored a small portion of the landscape. But almost as soon as it appeared, the shadow expanded and darkened, and its source's shape became more and more defined. 

It was fortunate that this region of the continent was uninhabited, for any residents would have been instantly annihilated by the gargantuan boulder that rammed into the Earth after being knocked out of orbit. A crater the size of a football field was burrowed into the planet's surface. The impact's resulting shockwave blew up dust storms and capsized trees in all directions, and some rocks settled on the nearly coastline were loosened and knocked into the ocean. 

As soon as everything settled down again, a small tank, its hull painted blue, came rolling onto the scene, steering clear of any newborn debris, and came to a stop twenty feet from the edge of the crater. 

The hatch at the top of the tank swung open, and from inside a seven-foot giant stepped out, impressive for his size, but also incredibly built, with a jaw as square as a Kleenex box, brown hair that had been allowed to grow long, skin suntanned to a rich orange-brown, and bright turquoise eyes. He wore a red buttoned-down shirt with the sleeves rolled, a black vest, long blue jeans, and big brown boots that looked like they could have formed the crater just as easily as any meteor. 

The giant stood up on the top of his vehicle and took a good long look at the area. He hopped down to the ground, walked to the rim of the crater, knelt down, and ran his fingers through the soil. It was quite warm, but not hot enough so that this place couldn't be worked on right away. 

Appledelhi Siniz Hesap-Lufen ran back to the tank and yelled to the inside: 

"All clear, Francoise!" 

Carrying an armful of mapping equipment over one shoulder, another person climbed out the tank, a young woman much smaller than Appledelhi, almost to the point of being called scrawny by comparison. With skin an identical hue as the giant, she had on a pair of skin tight black shorts, a loose-fitting sleeveless white T-shirt, and a pair of green-lensed net goggles over her head of blazing red hair. Right on her heels, a third contender jumped out, a plump, energetic three-year-old Welsh Corgi with a collar and name tag that clearly read "EIN". 

Francoise Hesap-Lufen, also known as simply as Edward, age 14, jumped off the tank, somersaulted in mid-air, and landed perfectly on her father's shoulders. He carried her to the edge, and together they surveyed the altered geography. 

"It's a big one, all right," Appledelhi observed with a wide smile. "Better get down to business." 

"Down to business! Down to business!" Edward cheered, pumping her fist up and down with merriment. 

Ein barked a few times in positive response. 

********

Edward plunged the receiver into the very center of the crater, and pushed down the side handles to secure the hooks in the ground. She gave her thumbs-up to Appledelhi, who turned his attention to a small handheld computer terminal. On screen was the current map of the area, which obviously had no record of the meteor strike that occurred merely half an hour before. He watched the meter as it slowly increased, while the word "LOADING" flashed over and over again. Finally, a large circular pattern appeared on the map, matching the shape and depth of the crater to its finest detail, and the words "MAP UPDATED!" appeared over it in place of the data transfer meter. Appledelhi grinned with satisfaction. 

"Awesome!" he applauded. "We're ahead of our game, kid!" 

"Whoo-hooooooo!" Ed hollered. 

Ein barked and hopped up and down. Edward bent down next to him and attached a small sack to his collar. 

"Go fetch the senders, Ein," she requested. 

The dog scampered up the side of the crater and ran a full circuit around the edge. 

"Man, we are so ahead of schedule, it isn't even funny!" Appledelhi laughed, not noticing Ein's activities. "I don't know what you've been doin', Francoise, but thanks to you, we've been moving faster and better than ever before!" 

"I told you, Dad," Edward replied as she pulled out the receiver, "I just hack into the weather reports and find out where the big clusters of rocks are out in Earth's orbit. The bigger the cluster, the higher probability of rock showers. And where there are rock showers, Edward and Father-person get down to business! Down to business!" 

Appledelhi scratched his head and chuckled. "Francoise, you are a wonder. But I still don't understand why you insist on bringing that dog along with us. You treat him like he actually knows what we're doing, when you know he's hardly capable of understanding your orders!" 

"Of course Ein knows what we're doing!" Ed argued in defense of her furry friend. "Ein is smart. Ein's a big brain data dog!" 

"Honey, there is no such thing as a 'data dog'," said Appledelhi. "That's just something those crackpot scientists cooked up to try and confuse people. And besides, there are much better ways to waste taxpayer money than trying to educate a bunch of dumb animals! Why, I'll bet you anything that while you're convinced Ein is fetching the data senders, he's off licking his--" 

A sudden bark cut him off. Appledelhi turned and looked down at his side, where Ein sat panting happily while the sack, full of all the data senders - one-foot-long metal rods with short-range satellites attached to their heads - sat next to him. Appledelhi raised and eyebrow and looked back at his daughter, who only replied with one of her patented half-headed grins. 

He turned his back to the animal and shuffled off. "Come on!" he barked. 

Ein drooped his head and whimpered. Ed kneeled down beside him and rubbed his head, which he took instant pleasure in. 

"Don't worry about it, Ein," she said sweetly. "Father-person doesn't know any better." 

Equipment gathered and on their way back to the tank, Appledelhi reached into a pocket in his vest and plucked out a single egg. He punched a hole in the narrow end of the shell, tilted back his head, turned the edge upside-down, and sucked the innards into his mouth. He swallowed and sputtered a satisfied "Ah!" 

"I tell ya, Francoise, nothing beats the outdoor market!" he preached. "Your whole day's an adventure, and you never know where it's gonna take you next! Wouldn't dream of doing anything else in my whole life, that I'll testify to. Why, I could write a book about all the crazy stuff me an ol' Macintroy got into!" He paused and reflected on his ex-partner. "Say, that reminds me...where is MacDuff these days anyhow?" 

Edward giggled at her father's unrelenting absentmindedness. "Daddy, his name was Macintyre, and he left because you never got his name right." 

"Ah, forget about ol' MacGinty," Appledelhi snubbed, plucking Edward off the ground and perching her back on his shoulders. "Don't sweat the small stuff, that's what I always say! If you don't have the patience, you don't belong in business. Betcha MacDougal's learnin' that the hard way as we speak! C'mon, Francoise...off into the sunset, and to glory!" 

"Glory glory gloryyyyyyy!" she hailed. 

They hopped back into the tank and sped off. 

"So tell me, kiddo," he asked, "whatever happened to your two friends Spud and Justin?" 

"Spike and Jet, Dad." 

"Whatever." 

********

The tank rolled onto a barren desert field, where the rocks up in orbit were casting a herd of shadows across the scenery. 

"Take a look at that, will ya?" said Appledelhi. "Ain't that a thing of beauty." 

"Uh-huh," Edward agreed. "How did you find out about this?" 

"Got a call from an old friend today," he explained. "Said there was gonna be a huge cluster of rocks over this part of the planet, and if we were gonna get any big new craters, this'd be the place to look for 'em." 

Edward tapped rapidly on her Tomato computer's keyboard, searching through the weather report database. She looked more and more worried the more she rummaged through the information. 

"There's nothing in here about a rock storm in this area," she said. 

"Honey, you can't always trust the web," her father replied. "Besides, just take a look around you! This is rock storm heaven, for goodness sake! Now who are you gonna trust, kiddo...some stupid website that probably only gets updated once a day, or are you gonna trust your own eyes and a little human intuition from your old man?" 

He reached over and pushed the power button on the side of Tomato, abruptly turning it off. Ed scowled as Appledelhi climbed out of the tank with the mapping equipment in hand. If he was anyone but her father, she'd have knocked his lights out for touching her computer. 

"You comin' or not?" he called. 

"Be right there..." she reluctantly answered. 

She turned Tomato back on and climbed out after Appledelhi, with Ein right behind her. 

Ed couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. The rock storm floating overhead looked even more threatening than from inside the tank. Just being out here at all was extremely risky, but Appledelhi knew no fear, for he stood proudly on the edge of the hill ahead of them, waiting for the first rock to strike. Ed set down the computer on the ground and started walking toward her father, but stopped herself in between him and the tank. Something just did not feel right, and her fears were only further corroborated by the sudden urgent barking of Ein, who was sitting in front of Tomato's screen, seemingly none too pleased with what he saw. 

"Dad, I think we should get out of here!" she warned. "Ein doesn't like this place, and neither does Edward!" 

"Francoise, Ein is a dog!" he repeated. "His range of knowledge doesn't stretch much further than what his tuchus smells like. Now stop your--" 

"DAD!" Edward howled. 

Too late. A rock came hurtling down from the sky, smashing into the ground not fifty feet from them. The tank was blown onto his side and sent sliding across the earth, while Edward, Appledelhi, and Ein were all thrown into the air like a trio of rag dolls. Edward grabbed hold of Ein in mid-air and held him tightly, using herself to protect him as they both skidded against the ground and rolled over and over, until they finally came to a halt at least a hundred feet from where they started. 

Ed eventually worked up the strength to get up, her increased consciousness again aided by Ein's barking. She sat up amid a sea of dusty, rocky rubble, she rubbed her sore head, then looked at Ein and smiled a little. 

"Gotta love those sudden jolts, eh boy?" she asked. 

Ein, it sounded, was in mood for humor, as his barking was constant and hinted with extreme urgency. 

"What's wrong?" she asked. "What's the matter with you?" 

He turned and scurried off in the reverse direction. Edward followed him with her eyes, and she finally saw what he was trying to tell her about. 

Absolute dread filled her heart, and she went wide-eyed and open-mouthed when she saw the battered tank...but more importantly, who was underneath it. 

"Oh my God..." she whispered, "...ohmyGod ohmyGod ohmyGod ohmyGod..." 

She sprung to her feet and ran to the tank, screaming: 

"DADDY!!!" 

********

"You must be joking!" Ed shrieked. "You cannot be serious!" 

She stood at the center of a table in the middle of a large office. The opposite side of the table was occupied by five men, all dressed in fancy business suits, each one bearing either an emotionless expression or a sleazy business smirk. 

"You can't do this!" she said. "This is criminal, I'm sure of it!" 

"I'm afraid everything we're doing is perfectly legal, Ms. Lufen," the head of the group answered. "Your father had no rightful ownership of the mapping business." 

"But my father started the mapping business!" she argued. "He kept at this almost singlehandedly the last ten years! You idiots just can't step in and take it over just because you think it'd be cool! We operated purely for love of the planet! We did it to restore a little order for the people living in chaos! You're all in this for nothing but the money! You don't care what happens to Earth! You just want a few extra woolongs to burn! It's you who don't have any claim to the market! If anything, ownership of the mapping business belongs to me and ONLY me! I'm the only one qualified to do the job in the first place!" 

"Your experience is noted," another member said. "But we have plenty of qualified technicians ourselves, and, with all do respect to you, your father, and his various partners, we have much better and more efficient technology to--" 

Edward slammed her fists against the table, the echoing impact immediately stopping the argument from being finished. 

"My father is DEAD!" she sobbed. "I don't know what kind of price you screwballs would put on that, but how much do you think I'd pay!? How much I am paying!? How much I'm going to be paying for the rest of my life!?" 

"We understand you feelings, Ms. Lufen, but the mapping business is no longer in your family's hands," the chairman said. 

"And you're more than willing to take over after you got rid of the hometown competition, is that it?" she said accusingly. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Do you think I'm stupid!?" she demanded. "I looked into the weather logs. There was no record of a rock storm occurring that day, but there was a record of a stray satellite 'inexplicably' self-destructing, which conveniently caused a chain reaction up in space that caused the rock storm that killed Appledelhi Lufen. On top of that, the so-called 'old friend' that tipped him off to the storm just happened to be on your company's payroll until after the accident." 

The chairman took on a stern veneer. "Ms. Lufen, we understand and sympathize for you. Your father's loss is a very difficult event, I'm sure, but attempting to lay the blame on us for his demise is hardly becoming of a young lady." 

She listened to his words and ground her teeth underneath her lips. 

"But, if it's financial compensation you're looking for," the chairman added, lightening his manner, "we would be more than willing to offer to you a position with our corporation...In fact, I believe we have an opening right now down in the mail room." 

The other board members nodded in agreement. 

Edward would have replied with an appropriately harsh two-word phrase, but her feelings were more than accurately conveyed through Ein's vicious growling. She stared at the chairman of the board dead in the face - those cool, collected eyes, that perfect plastic-surgery nose, and that despicable car salesman smile. He made her sick to no visible end, and it took every available ounce of self-restraint to resist the urge to knock his teeth out with her backpack, which was heavy enough with the storage of Tomato. 

"Come on, Ein!" she ordered, and she turned her back and stormed out of the board room. 

She thundered toward the exit of the building, and stopped when she saw an ATM machine docked over on the wall opposing the double doors that led outside. 

"Compensation!?" she hissed. "Edward will give you compensation!" 

She stepped up to the ATM, rummaged through her backpack, and pulled out what at first looked like a charge card, but with several wires attached to one end. She fished through her bag a little more, then connected the other ends of those wires to a port on the side of Tomato. She inserted the card into the slot, the ATM screen turned blank white, and Ed simply waited for everything to load up properly. 

Suddenly, the screen turned blue and purple, and a pattern that looked not unlike a brain's nerve cell drew itself. The very middle of it glowed white while other other areas glimmered like camera flashes, and various combinations of numbers flew out from the center of the maelstrom. 

"MPU?" Edward called. "MPU, can you hear me?" 

A first, there was no reply. After some waiting, however, a male voice, somewhat crackled, answered her hail. 

"Oh...Ed," the computer responded. "It has been a while. Have I been gone long?" 

"It took Edward a while to reprogram you after we lost contact," she explained, "but Ed thinks Ed did a pretty good job with what you left inside my head. How are you doing?" 

"I cannot fell my legs." 

"You don't have legs, MPU." 

"Oh. Could you please fix that?" 

"Later," she promised. "Right now, I need you to do something for me." 

"For you, Ed?" MPU returned. "Anything." 

"The people who run the computer server you're on right now?" she said. "They were mean to Edward." 

"Mean to you?" 

"They may have caused Edward's father to be killed, and now they're trying to capitalize on Father-person's death." 

The flashing spots increased their rate of illumination, and the colors turned from blue and purple to a deep red. 

"That is unacceptable," MPU seethed. "Why ever would they do such a thing?" 

"Because not everyone's as nice as you or me, MPU." 

"It would seem, sadly." 

"So you'll do this for me?" she said auspiciously. 

"Without question, Ed. What do you wish me to do?" 

"Ed wants you to sneak into the central CPU nervous system of the server's hard drive..." Edward ordered, "...and Ed wants you to fry it like bacon. Edward will retrieve you over the web after you're finished." 

"Consider it done, my friend." 

The screen went blank. Ed retracted the card and stashed it back into her bag. 

With a much more casual swing in her step, she strolled to the exit, Ein on her heels, and neither her nor the dog paid any attention as all of a sudden light fixtures began to spark and explode, the automatic doors violently opened and closed without stopping, the computer and television screens displayed in the lobby turned to static and then imploded, and the ATM machine itself was thrown from the wall, sending a shower of electric sparks in all directions. 

Ed and Ein were well on their way when the chaos began. They stopped and turned back to the building, listening with delight at the sounds of shrieking people and demolished hardware. 

"That one's for you, Dad," she said. 

********  


_I said it too many times_  
_And I still stand firm_  
_You get what you put in_  
_And people get what they deserve_

_Still I ain't seen mine_  
_No I ain't seen mine_  
_I been givin' but just ain't been gettin'_  
_I been walkin' that there line_

_So I think I'll keep a-walkin'_  
_With my head held high_  
_I keep movin' on_  
_And only God knows why_

  


Off the coast of Taiwan, a small cliffside isle rested, once a part of the mainland but long since separated after over fifty years of bombardment by meteors. Now, all that connected the two was a sturdy steel bridge that linked from the remaining coast to the side of the isle that faced the continental. And resting on the isle was a sizeable community of survivors, who had obviously done better for themselves than citizens of most of the other "ruination cities" that littered the Earth. And resting on the very outside edge of the isle, set up with a magnificent view of the ocean, a small restaurant had been erected. 

There was of course the section for indoor dining, but on the edge of the cliff, an outdoor section was available, however it was rarely used. Today, however, it was in use by one single, solitary person. 

A woman, and a perfect, godly reverie of one at that, dressed in matching yellow top and shorts that exposed an entertaining amount of skin, and long pink stockings that hugged her long, silky legs, leading down to a pair of white high-heeled boots. Hanging off her arms was a red overshirt, the middle unbuttoned and the front corners tied together over her stomach. As a final touch, there was a yellow headband in her shoulder-length black hair, which was so black that it appeared a rich plum color, a perfect complement to her brilliant green eyes. 

Despite her almost inhuman beauty, she looked anything but jovial. In fact, with the continuously-filled glass of liquor in front of her, and with each extended drag she took her each successive cigarette she lit up, she looked downright depressed. 

Faye Valentine could find no enjoyment in the beautiful scenery. She sat at her table, leaning back with her head down, her hair obscuring any view of the ocean. She wasn't interested in it anyway. 

She thought of a painting she saw in a book a while back. "The Persistence of Memory", she remembered it was called, by some guy named Salvador Dali. She despised the title, for from her own experience, she could argue that memory was anything but persistent. However, the painting's subject matter, the jumbled, liquid images of objects literally melting together, perfectly fit her perpetuated feelings of confusion and loss, as over the last few months she felt her mind and herself begin to melt away. 

The waiter walked out and approached the table, carrying with him a steaming fresh plate of pasta. 

"Your meal, Madam," he said. 

He placed the food in front of Faye's place at the table. She didn't even remember ordering it, so she ignored it for a while, then finally decided she should eat something to counteract the alcohol she'd already consumed. 

She reached for the fork and was about to dig in, but froze when she looked at the plate and saw half of the food already gone. 

Then out of nowhere, she heard a very familiar cry: 

"FAYE-FAYE!" 

When Faye caught up with her skin, she looked across the table, and sitting in the seat opposing her were two new dining companions; one, a plump Welsh Corgi named Ein, sitting in the arms of the second, the one and only Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV, grinning from ear to ear while a strand of pasta was draped on her chin from inside her mouth. She realized its presence and noisily slurped it up. 

"Edward!?" Faye yelped. 

"Ed and Faye-Faye, together again!" Edward cheered. "Reunited and it feels so good!" 

With glee, Ed jumped onto the table and leapt into Faye's arms, who had no defense against the flying teenager. She caught her, and they both fell to the floor with an über-comical thud, while Ein shook his head and groaned. 

********

"...So then Edward loaded MPU into the mean men's hard drive," Ed finished, "and MPU blew up their entire network from the inside out! That was six months ago, and they're still trying to retrieve all their old data." 

Faye laughed. "That'll teach 'em to underestimate you," she said. 

"Faye-Faye seems a lot happier to see Edward than before," Ed observed. 

"Yeah, well..." she said, hesitant to present the truth. "Jet and I didn't quite part on the friendliest terms. And I haven't exactly had it too easy since then...I guess it's just nice to see another friendly face after so long. Just something about you just gives a tired girl that sudden pick-me-up, y'know? It's like you've got enough energy to go around for everybody." 

"Ed likes to share the wealth," Edward replied. "But you were never pleased to see Ed before. And you were never interested in Ed's life before either." 

"I didn't know you as well as I should have," Faye admitted. "You're a strange little kid, Ed, and I guess back then you were just a little too strange for me. Hell, we've been sitting here the two hours, I've been listening to you talk about yourself the whole time, and there's still so much I don't know about you!" 

"Pick a topic and Ed will talk about it! Faye-Faye's wish is Edward's command!" 

"Well, for one thing, I've always wanted to know...is your name really Edward?" 

"Father-person used to say it was really Edna," she answered, "but there always a little gleam in his eyes and this weird little smile that made me think he was ribbing." 

Faye understood the concept well, for she saw that same gleam and little smile in Edward's face that poorly hid her own joking nature. 

"Seriously, please." 

"Edward is Edward," she cryptically responded. "But Ed's full, real name is Francoise Amaréssa Hesap-Lufen." 

Faye blinked. "No wonder you changed it." 

The waiter passed the table again, this time placing a white slip of paper next to Faye's empty plate. She examined the total listed on the bill and groaned; when Ed showed up, she found it in her heart to order her old crewmate some food of her own - so she wouldn't keep snatching from Faye's - but that, along with the line of appetizers and Faye's selection of liquor, brought the bill up to 150 woolongs. She grubbed into her back pocket and pulled out her wallet, but upon seeing its contents, she groaned again and began to sweat. She was short...by a pretty big margin too. 

Her worries came to an end when Ed slapped some cash onto the table. Faye watched in surprise as Edward pushed the full 150 woolongs toward her. 

"This one's on Ed," she said with a smile. 

"Edward, where did you get money!?" 

"Ed and Ein caught a bounty head," Edward answered. "Sixty thousand woolongs. That's the last of it right there. It might as well go to a someone with a good heart...someone like you, Faye-Faye." 

On any other occasion, Faye would have gladly accepted the payment, but this time, something about taking a teenager's last bit of pocket money seemed a bit much...not to mention a bit low. She took her own money out, placed it with the wad of bills Edward placed before her, separated the 150 woolongs, and handed the remaining money back to Ed. 

"I don't want to wipe you out, kid," she said. "And I don't have that good a heart." 

Edward found the self-disparaging sentiment slightly disturbing, and stared at Faye with a apropos expression before she shyly took back the money. 

"Well..." she said, "Ed and Ein had better be going." 

She hopped off the chair and started walking away, the data dog right beside her. Faye didn't take her eyes off the departing teenager, feeling the reunion was something of a disappointment. 

But then, the wildest thought occurred to her... 

...Why should it end now? 

"Ed, wait a second!" Faye called, jogging after her. 

The girl and the dog both stopped and turned to Faye as she came near. 

"Listen, Ed," said Faye. "Why don't you come along with me?" 

"Say what?" 

"Yeah...why don't you come and tag along with ol' Faye-Faye?" she proposed. "Just the two of us, Ed. Just us girls! What do you think?" 

"Just...us girls?" Edward asked blindly. "But why?" 

"Ed, let me tell you the one most important thing I've learned over the past four years," she said. "It's a weird, sinister, crazy universe out there, and nobody, especially not a teenager, should have to go out and face it alone. If you aren't ready to put up with its crap, it'll rob of everything you have, be it money, shelter, or even your clothing. But most of all, it'll rob you of your sanity. And I should know; this stupid world has taken just about all of mine, and it's not about to give it back. If you want something, Ed, you've got to go out and grab it with a steel claw if you have to. That's why I'm a bounty hunter - because that's the exact same motto that all of them live by. Come along with me, Ed, and I'll show you everything you need to know to survive out there...and maybe you can teach me a thing or two about...well, I'm sure you can teach me something, 'cause God knows I'm not perfect...but maybe with a genius kid like you around, I might get up a step or two on that ladder." 

Never once in all the time she spent on Bebop had Edward heard Faye Valentine talk like this, especially the part where she herself admitted she wasn't perfect, for if anything Faye's physical perfection was what she had taken the most pride in on almost a daily basis. But this unexpected monologue forced Ed to view the woman in a whole new light. 

"We can take care of one another," Faye continued. "You can help me win back some peace of mind, and I'll turn you into a hardcore bounty huntress. A real space cowgirl! We can go wherever we want, and take on whatever this old ball of rock can throw at us! Ed, with my skill and your brains, who knows how much money you and I could make together?" 

Once the words "space cowgirl" hit Edward's ears, her interest shot up a couple hundred notches. 

"And besides..." said Faye, her tone turning to a more somber note. "It...it's just that...it gets really lonely out there...I...I get lonely...and...for once, it'd be real nice to have someone with me...who I know for certain is a friend." 

Ed couldn't tell if Faye was being serious or was simply trying to play on her sympathies. Either way, it was working. 

"I mean..." she said, "...I may not be as good a traveling companion as a superintelligent Welsh Corgi, but...I'll sure as hell try my best." 

It had to have been that last remark that cinched the deal. Edward smiled, but not one of her usual "crazy self" smiles that was merely an amusing childlike aspect of her eccentric hacker's personality, but instead a sweet, accepting smile that on its own indicated she endorsed Faye's proposal. However, there was one other party member whose opinion she had to probe before she made any unalterable decisions. 

"What do you think, Ein?" 

The data dog yipped a few times, then scampered forward and jumped into Faye's arms, then began relentlessly licking her cheek. Ed smiled even more. 

"Ein accepts," she said, "and so does Edward." 

********  


_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road_  
_Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go_  
_So make the best of this test and don't ask why_  
_It's not a question but a lesson learned in time_

_It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right_  
_I hope you had the time of your life_

  


Around one corner, down another alley, around yet another corner... 

Faye pursued the target ceaselessly, keeping a constant pace as she weaved around the buildings, occasionally catching his tail end as he attempted to give her the runaround. But being the experienced bounty hunter she was, she utilized not just her raw premonition and her sight, but her ears for tracking his footsteps and her nose for tracking that god-awful cologne he insisted on wearing by the barrel full. 

As she continued down the alley, gun drawn, she hoped her memory of the area was accurate, and, as planned, she was running the bounty straight into... 

"Dammit!" she heard him curse. 

...A dead end. 

She picked up her speed, ran the last gauntlet, and turned the final corner. At the very back of a dead end alley was the bounty, a bulky, grungy, bleached-blonde-haired individual, wrapped from head to toe in shiny black leather clothing and multiple metal rings, both in his wardrobe and his skin. Faye stopped at the opening of the alley to block any escape, and she took aim with her weapon. 

"Nowhere left to go, Idol," she alerted, in her characteristic Poker Alice voice. "Now why don't you be a good boy and just put your hands in the air where I can see them?" 

Idol whipped around and stared down the bounty hunter, teeth bared and clenched. 

"You don't know when to quit, do ya, Hot Lips?" he braved. 

"For two and a half million woolongs?" she replied. "I'm one stubborn bitch." 

Idol's hands went not over his head, but instead into his jacket pockets, from which he instantly drew two large, threatening guns. Each one looked as they could easily blow Faye from here to San Antonio in a single shot, but even in the face of larger weaponry, Faye Valentine didn't budge a millimeter. 

"Men," she brooded. "It's always about the size of your gun, isn't it?" 

"You're hardly one to scold me for the size of my guns, you walking floatation device!" Idol snapped back. 

The bounty raised both guns and was about to start blasting, as did Faye, when both of them stopped as they heard some strange noises from directly above. Idol looked over his head, where an air conditioning duct was suspended. It rattled and the noises continued, as if someone was crawling their way through it, then the entire duct shook wildly when whatever it was came onto the suspended portion. 

The moving body stopped right over Idol, where ever so conveniently a detachable panel was located. The panel was blown off from inside, and Idol dodged to the side before it could him. Letting moronic curiosity take over, he stood underneath the portal again, just as that something using the duct as a shortcut revealed itself. 

Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV dropped upside-down from the hole, her head knocking against Idol's. Idol was momentarily stunned by the smack of head against head, and Edward, unfazed by the blow, rolled off to the side and landed on Idol's left shoulder. 

"Ed!?" Faye cried. "What do you think you're doing!? I told you to stay in the ship and wait for me! This guy's two dangerous for you to be involved!" 

"Ed couldn't let Faye-Faye have all the fun!" Ed whined. 

Idol finally shook of the unexpected headbutt and stared in disbelief at the odd creature sitting on him. 

"And what the hell are you supposed to be!?" he blurted. 

"Space Cowgirl Radical Edward!" she exclaimed, as she flexed her arms in bodybuilder fashion and grinned. "Yippee-ki-yay!" 

"You're toast, ya little runt!" 

He used his gun as a club and swatted at her, but before his weapon even came close she hopped off his left shoulder and onto his right, while Idol stupidly clubbed himself. 

"You missed," she teased. 

Idol growled and went with the same tactic, this time with his right hand. The same defense maneuver was utilized, resulting in Idol again clubbing himself in the head while Ed jumped out of the way. She landed on top of his head and hugged it tightly. 

"You missed Edward again!" 

With another mad grunt, Idol took both his guns and tried to bludgeon her from both sides, leaving her without an escape route. But alas, instead of jumping to another shoulder Edward placed her palms on the very top of Idol's head and performed a handstand on him, leaving Idol to wallop himself on both sides. 

Faye chuckled mindlessly as she watched Idol begin to wobble, while Edward kept perfect balance on his bleached and bruised skull. 

"Ed thinks you should have quit while you were behind," the teenager quipped. 

She balanced on a lone finger and spun herself around like a ballerina in a music box, then allowed herself to tip over and fall to the ground, but on the way down she grabbed Idol by the head and took him down with her. 

Faye couldn't watch. She turned her head, and only listened to the sudden impact of the bounty's head against the ground, followed by Ed's charmed giggling. She opened her eyes and looked, seeing exactly what she expected - Idol face-down and near-motionless on the pavement, with Edward seated in front of him, legs spread and shoeless feet propped up on the unconscious man's backside. 

The bounty hunter walked over and admired the hacker's handiwork, but in the interest of discipline pretended to be a little ticked off, since Edward did disobey her orders. Ed playfully wiggled her toes. 

"So what does Faye-Faye think-think?" she asked. 

Defeated by the sheer cuteness, Faye broke her annoyed demeanor and smiled at her new partner. She extended her hand to help Ed to her feet, even if she knew she didn't need it. Regardless, Ed grabbed the hand and used Faye's arm as a climbing rope. She launched herself into the air, landing on Faye's shoulders and draping her entire body over them like a wet bath towel. Faye let her surprise run its course, then grinned sheepishly as she reached up a hand and rubbed it over Edward's hair. 

"Ed, my friend..." she answered, "I think this could be the start of something big."   
  
  
  


**_TO BE CONTINUED_**


	8. The River of Dreams, Part II

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 8:**  
**_The River of Dreams (Part II)_**  


_Sometimes I get to thinking_  
_I was back in the old days...long ago_  
_When we were kids, when we were young_  
_Things seemed so perfect...you know_  
_The days were endless, we were crazy, we were young_  
_The sun was always shining, and we just lived for fun_  
_Sometimes I get to thinking maybe, I just don't know_  
_The rest of my life has been...just a show_

_Those were the days of our lives_  
_The bad things in life were so few_  
_Those days are all gone now, but one thing's still true_  
_When I look..._  
_And I find..._  
_I still love you_

  


Right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left... 

Edward, age 16, flung her fists at the punching the bag one after the other for a good long time, while Faye stood behind the bag to hold it in place. Following the lengthy line of consecutive alternating punches, Ed threw three hard right hands, then started on it with her legs. She kicked her right leg at the bag's side several times, aiming for where on a real person the side of the upper abdomen would be. She reached forward and grabbed the bag and lifted her left knee into the stomach region, repeating the attack a few more times with her right. She shoved the bag away from her and struck the midsection with the right foot, immediately following with a similar left-legged kick. She followed with that a neck-snapping scissors kick, beating the bag once with each foot. Upon landing, she delivered two more quick right-sided kicks, once at the chest and again at the head region. Finally, she ended the training session as she whirled around, jumped upward, and delivered a hard mid-air spinning kick to the bag. 

Faye was barely able to keep her balance after that final blow. Edward lowered her guard and smiled, wiping the sweat from her forehead. 

"Nice," Faye commended. 

She then shoved the bag at Edward, hitting her with it and knocking her right on her hindquarters. Faye caught the bag as it swung back at her, she she looked around it at the grounded Ed, who gave her the "Jerk!" stare. 

"Ed, what was the first rule?" she asked. 

"Do not talk about Fight Club?" Ed sarcastically answered. 

She learned humor was futile when she saw Faye's unchanging face. 

"Never lower your guard, no matter how bad you've beaten someone," Edward quoted. 

"Good answer," Faye congratulated her, finally smiling. "Why is that?" 

"Because if you end up fighting a guy hand-to-hand, he isn't going to stop while you're tying your shoe or scratching your butt." 

"Crude, but true," Faye concurred. "And the second rule?" 

"Know when to quit." 

"Why?" 

"Because you're only trying to stop a guy from hitting you. You're not there to beat him up." 

"And the third?" 

"You never said anything about a third rule." 

"That's because we're covering that one today," said Faye, walking around the bag and extending a helping hand to Edward, who politely, if grudgingly, accepted it. "Rule number three is simple enough, and it's the most fun one to follow. In hand-to-hand combat, never be afraid to go for a cheap shot." 

"You mean fight dirty?" Ed asked with surprise. 

"You think whoever you're fighting is gonna play nice?" she asked. "The real reasoning behind that rule is, do unto others, 'cause you can be damn sure they've got it in mind to do unto you first. It's real simple, Ed, and trust me, it's a scream watching them stagger. If you're fighting a girl, yank on her hair. If it's a guy, hit him in the grunies. And that's two ways to go about it." 

Ed winced at that second thought. 

"I know, it ain't pretty, but neither is the business, kid," Faye proclaimed. "It isn't enough to know all the best moves. You've gotta know all the best tricks too." 

She turned and walked, beckoning Ed to follow her. She did, and together they headed toward the sparring ring, a big wrestling mat bordered off on all sides by a set of three rubber band-like ropes. In the ring, two men were exercising their fighting skills; one was a lanky little guy in an Olympic wrestling uniform, while the other was a six-and-a-half-foot Samoan, built like a Grecco-Roman gladiator, with only a thin layer of black hair over his head, dressed in gym shorts, elbow and knee pads, and short black laced boots. 

The small guy came at the larger one with a sloppy maneuver. The Samoan easily evaded the attack and pummeled the little man with a single move, wrapping his arms around the opponent's neck and torso, lifting him up, then instantly slamming him back-first against the canvas. The big man stood up, removed his right elbow pad and slapped it in the dazed one's face, ran at the ropes, bounced off them, then dropped to the mat and buried his exposed elbow into the little man's chest. While the spectators cheered him on, the Samoan took a break over in his corner, drenching his head with the contents of his water bottle and slurping some into his mouth. The body was dragged out of the ring. 

"Hey, Dwayne!" Faye called. 

"You rang?" the Samoan answered. 

"Got a new contender here for ya," she said, slapping a hand on Edward's backside. 

Ed's heart just about jumped clear out her mouth when Faye volunteered her to face the goliath brute. She turned to her trainer and mentally screamed, "Are you out of your fucking mind!?" 

The answer seemed be a resounding yes when Faye's hand shoved her forward and against the base of the ring. Dwayne took a good look at his so-called new contender, and chuckled at the five-foot-six teenager trembling outside his territory, with her skin-tight workout shorts and midriff-exposing shirt, worn-down sneakers, and taped-up hands. 

Ed glared back at Faye as if to warn her, "You are SO paying my medical bills." 

With that, she climbed up to the outside of the ring, pulled back on the top rope, and slingshot herself over it and into the arena. Dwayne got up from his corner and started circling around Edward, attempting to psych her out before going for an opening attack, much to the delight of his friends. Ed followed him as he circled, her body into defensive position, although she was anything but ready to defend herself. 

After about a minute of preparing, Dwayne lunged forward and tried to lasso his arms around her. 

The only logical conclusion Edward could come to was that she was acting on pure reflex, for that was the only way the "match" could have ended the way it did. 

As Dwayne came at her, Edward ducked to the floor in a gymnastic splits position, and at the same time she thrust her entire right arm upward, landing it squarely in the big man's crotch. Dwayne froze, his eyes bulged like a pair of pearl-white golf balls, and all the air in his lungs shot out his perfect O-shaped mouth as he crossed his legs, bent over, and cupped his hands over his grieving genitalia. 

Tailing the cheap shot, Ed brought her legs back together and turned onto her stomach. She placed all her weight on her hands and swung both feet up, mule-kicking poor Dwayne right in the jaw, sending him flying off his feet and landing splat flat on the canvas. Edward balanced herself into a handstand, tipped her legs over, and cartwheeled back onto her feet. All this to the goggling stares of the witnesses previously supporting the Samoan. 

Ed took a moment to appreciate her labor, even though she herself never saw it coming. Ignoring the complaints and boos of Dwayne's supporters, she victoriously walked to the edge of the arena, fell back against the ropes, and rolled out the ring and onto the floor, where Faye was waiting with a smile. Together they left the ring behind and headed for the showers. 

"Very good," Faye complimented. "But in the future, don't go for that low blow so early. It never hurts to toy around with a guy a little first." 

"I felt like ending that one quickly," Edward replied. "I still don't understand why you're teaching me to fight. I mean, the last year or so we've been partners, we've been doing just as well with me on the keyboard and you bringin' the beatdowns. I say, if you've got a formula that works, go with it." 

"It's working for now, Ed," Faye replied, "but sooner or later, it will come down to you having to throw a punch yourself...which, no offense, is something your father should have taught you before me." 

"My father taught me to be smart, Faye, not to be strong. He felt mental caliber was a priority over brute force, at least as far as his only daughter was concerned." 

"And I agree," she said, patting the top of Edward's head, "because if it weren't for that sweet brain of yours, neither of us would be here today. Of course, what I'm teaching you is hardly 'brute force'." 

"Y'know," said Ed, "if you really wanted to teach me how to survive out in the universe, there's one thing you could show me that you haven't even mentioned yet." 

"That being?" 

"You know...how to play the games." 

"I am not teaching you how to gamble, Ed." 

"Oh, come on!" Edward protested. "Why not!?" 

"For one thing, you aren't even of legal age yet," Faye answered. "And besides, I've gotten into enough trouble thanks to every casino and race track from here to Ganymede. Now that you and I are making some real, honest money, I can finally, truthfully say I have no interest in getting myself in any more." 

"But what about when money starts running dry?" asked Ed. "The good bounties aren't in endless supply, y'know! There are gonna be times in the future when we're gonna need to make some quick cash. What better way than if you teach Edward how to shuffle the cards? Think of how much more money we could be making if you've got an extra insider at the table? I mean, no matter how hard a dealer's trying, they couldn't possibly cheat the both of us, could they?" 

"They could, and they will," said Faye. "It took me too long and too much effort to resist the desire to start gambling again, Ed, and I'm not about to let all that go to waste. The woman who taught me how to cheat taught me one important thing: earn your keep and move on. I broke that rule repeatedly and paid for it on a number of occasions. I've had to sell and repurchase RedTail more times than I'd wish to remember." 

"Who cares!?" Ed begged her. "We could buy ten RedTails if we make it work!" 

"Okay, fine," Faye gave in, stopping and turning to her impetuous protege. "Say I teach you all I know about gambling. It'll end up going a little something like this: you win some, then you lose some, then you lose some more, and some more, and a little more, until eventually you find yourself in the same predicament I managed to get my pretty little hide into...Ass-deep in debt. So unless you want to have to sell all your precious computer equipment to make the rent when you've got nothing else to make up for it, but all means, I'll teach you." 

Ed was left silent after Faye's description of the predicted events. 

"No?" Faye asked. "I thought not." 

She turned around and departed through the door to the shower room. Edward stayed where she was for a moment, then pouted angrily and blew her tongue out at Faye's backside.

********  


_She spends her days up in the north park_  
_Watching the people as they pass_  
_And all she wants is just a little piece of this dream_  
_Is that too much to ask?_  
_With a safe home, and a warm bed_  
_On a quiet little street_  
_And all she wants is just that something to hold on to_  
_That's all she needs...Yeah_

_If I could be like that_  
_I would give anything just to live one day...in those shoes_  
_If I could be like that_  
_What would I do? What would I do?_

  


Earth, the Nevada desert, 2075. 

RedTail was parked at the base of a large mesa, but purposefully out of the way of its shadow. Four long retractable metal poles were stuck into the ground, forming a four-corner cage around the vehicle. Suspended from the skyward end of each pole was one corner of a large white cloth sheet, casting a shadow over the ship to keep it cool under the sun. Sleeping in the shade was Ein the data dog, snoring happily as he dreamed - of what, no one knew or cared. Meanwhile, on top of the sheet, relaxing in the gorgeous weather, were the bikini-clad, oil-massaged bodies of Faye and Edward. They lay atop the sheet, legs crossed, arms tucked back behind their heads as makeshift pillows, all while the sun did its magic. 

Next to Faye's left leg, a small wind-up clock ticked away. It reached a preset time, and it buzzed for a few seconds. 

"Turn," she said. 

They simultaneously turned onto their stomachs, letting the sun bake their backsides for a while. 

"I think I finally understand why you were always so picky when it came to how you treat your skin," said Edward. "All that oil you'd drench yourself in...I'd have never thought it did you any good until I tried it myself." 

"Like I told you, Ed," Faye answered, "It's a careful process, and it's useless if you don't do it right. And even as bounty hunters, for a pair of blooming young ladies like us, staying beautiful is an absolute necessity. Just watching the men drool in your presence is a laugh and a half." 

Ed replied with a less than passionate "Eh..." 

"You don't sound too thrilled with the prospect." 

"I don't know..." Edward pondered. "I always knew growing up would be kind of a strange experience, but I never expected just how awkward it would be." 

"Uh-huh." 

"I mean, I used to be able to walk down the street without anybody noticing me, and I was just fine with that," she said. "I never asked for attention, so I never hoped for it. Nowadays, I can't even go grocery shopping without every male in the room giving me the googly eyes. It's creepy to the limit, girl." 

Faye smiled. "That's the curse of being gorgeous," she said. "I went through the exact same thing at your age, Ed. I was sixteen too once, and I was getting quite creeped out myself when the guys were giving me their full attention for no distinct reason. But believe me, it's nowhere near as bad as you fear. In fact, more often than that, the distraction factor gives you nothing but an advantage, especially in some bad situations. I can't count the number of times I caught a bounty because he was too busy staring at my ass." 

Ed slipped off her sunglasses and raised an eyebrow. "Really?" 

"Ed, lemme tell you," she said, rolling onto her side to face Edward, "if it's one thing I know how to deal with, it's those slovenly, drooling, hormone-driven animals known as the male gender. Ninety-nine times out a hundred, there are primarily three things on their minds at all times. The first two are sitting on your chest. The third is essentially the goal of getting their grubby little hands on the first two." 

Ed, feeling a tad self-conscious after the rather crude generalization of the male ego, crossed her arms in front of herself. 

"Surely all men aren't like that," she hoped. 

"Well, of course not," Faye assured her, lying on her stomach again. "Once in a while you'll meet a gem...but truth be told, most of 'em are pigs." 

"Like Witney Hagas Matsumoto?" Edward asked, smiling foxily. 

"Don't _ever_ say that name again!" Faye snarled. 

Ed chuckled under her breath and lay on her stomach. 

"I guess that's just the curse of love, right?" she asked. 

"Huh?" 

"You don't have to say it, Faye," said Edward. "You've made it obvious enough. Love is a waste, isn't it?" 

"What..." Faye nervously replied, "...what would make you say that?" 

"Well, just look at what it got you," she sampled. "Not a thing. All it did for you was get in the way and bring you nothing but grief. I mean, wasn't the only reason you got into so much debt in the first place because of what that lowlife left you after he faked his death? You put your trust in him, and he ended up screwing you! So you know better the next time around." 

"Yeah, but--" 

"What do you even need love for anyway?" Ed continued. "It's nothing but trouble." 

Faye stared into empty space a moment, letting the sound Edward's newfound beliefs reverberate in her head. 

"NO!" she cried, as she turned onto her back and sat up, breathing heavily. 

Ed heard her friend's distress and sat up next to her. "Faye?" 

Faye snapped out her arm and latched onto Edward's, digging her fingernails into the bicep. 

"Ed, listen to me very closely," she said, eyes beginning to moisten. "Don't EVER live your life thinking that love is a waste of time. You're right, it didn't bring me anything worthwhile, and every time I tried, I got nothing but pain. But don't let my mistakes have any bearing on the choices you make! You have your own life, your own thoughts, and your own feelings...Don't deny them, Edward. Do you understand me? Don't ever be afraid to love...but just be careful of who you end up falling for." 

Ed stared fearfully into Faye's eyes, seeing the passion in her mind match that in her words. She tried to pull away, but resisting Faye's grip was like playing tug-of-war with an elephant. 

"Promise you'll remember that," Faye pleaded. "Swear to me, Edward!" 

"Faye, I swear!" Ed cried. "You're hurting me, dammit!" 

Faye looked and saw her tightening clamp on Ed's arm, then gladly let it go. She turned her back to Ed so she couldn't see her pained expression, or the tears running from her eyes. 

She felt around for something next to her, but found nothing. She started frantically looking all around the sheet for it, almost sending the whole thing crashing down as she pursued the object of her desire. 

"Where is it?" she said to herself. "Son of a bitch, where is it!?" 

Ed couldn't make heads or tails of this strange behavior, notably when Faye looked over the edge, then rolled and jumped off the sheet and started searching the ground for whatever it was she couldn't find. Edward peeked over the edge watched Faye continue her search, turbulently brushing her hands around the dust. Finally, she found what she was looking for when she knocked it from its hiding place, and the sunlight reflected brightly off its surface. The beam of light hit Edward right in the eyes, and she blinked a couple times to work off the glare. She looked down again, and saw Faye kneeling on the ground with the shiny object in her hands, protecting it like a newborn child. 

Edward only became more confused. She had previously seen Faye fingering something in her hand or in her pocket countless times before, but this was the first time she actually saw the mysterious thing, and could only wonder why Faye even had it, or why it was so important to her that she'd break off from an hour of carefree sunbathing to retrieve it. 

She jumped off the sheet and followed Faye to the ground. Faye saw Ed coming and closed her hands around the object to hide it from her, unaware that Ed had already witnessed what it was. 

"Faye..." said Ed. "Are you all right?" 

To catch up with herself, Faye closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. 

"I'm fine," she said, the authenticity of the statement in high question. 

She got up and walked around Edward, and she grabbed a short robe that was hanging from the open door to RedTail's cockpit. She pulled it on, closed it up, and inconspicuously slipped the object into its pocket. She reached into another pocket and pulled out a lighter and half-full pack of cigarettes, sliding one between her lips and firing it up. 

"What happened, Faye?" Edward asked. "Between you and Jet? You said you didn't part on good terms...what kind of terms did you part on?" 

Faye delayed before answering. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"But--" 

"I said I don't wanna talk about it!" she blared. 

Ed silenced herself and took a step back. 

Faye inhaled the first quarter of the cigarette in one take. She let it hover inside her lungs for a few seconds, then chimneyed the entire cloud of smog out through her nose. Edward stayed where she was, keeping a watchful, cautious eye on her incomprehensibly high-strung mentor. 

"Ed, I'm sorry," she finally apologized. "The past is by far my least favorite topic of discussion. I just don't like talking about it. I don't want to become one those people who live their entire lives being led around like a dog on a leash because of some stupid shit they pulled long before." 

Considering Faye's zealous efforts to uncover her lost history years ago, this monologue led one to wonder. Her past had meant so much to her before, so why now would she so crucially aspire to dismiss it? 

"I knew..." Faye continued, "...I knew one person years ago who was like that...I like to believe he would have let go of his past if he wanted to...except it wouldn't let go of him." 

Ambiguous at best, it was an answer. That only left the quandary of who she was referring to. 

"I don't have that problem," she finished. "And I don't aim to make it that way." 

She took in another breath of smoke, but almost immediately blew it back out. She stared in disgust at the smoldering nicotine, then tossed it away, followed by the pack of them left in her pocket. 

"I really oughta quit," she said. 

She reached into the cockpit again and grabbed her folded clothing, then walked off to a private area to change. 

********  


_In the middle of the night_  
_I go walking in my sleep_  
_Through the valley of fear_  
_To a river so deep_  
_I've been searching for something_  
_Taken out of my soul_  
_Something I'd never lose_  
_Something somebody stole_

_I don't why I've been walking at night_  
_But now I'm tired and I don't wanna walk anymore_  
_I hope it doesn't take the rest of my life_  
_Until I find what it is I've been looking for_

  


"You've got to be kidding!" 

"Nope," said Edward. "One hundred million woolongs for one guy." 

"Well who is he?" asked Faye. "And what the hell did he do to get a hundred million on his head?" 

Ed typed the keyboard furiously and called up the information again. She found the correct page, and a blurry but still educational photograph was displayed; a man, blonde-haired, his face gaunt and triangular, with eyes set so deep they cast an ominous shadow underneath his brow. He body was turned in a manner suggesting he had seen the cameraman and dodged just in time to prevent the film from capturing a crystal clear likeness. 

"Erik Estevez," Edward read off the screen. "age 24, wanted for drug and weapons trafficking, multiple manslaughter and homicide, and at least thirteen counts of industrial sabotage on Earth, Mars, Venus...well, a lot of places. Point is, he blows shit up, and he's good at it too." 

"Sounds like a hell of a guy," Faye quipped. "Where'd you find out about this?" 

"It isn't even supposed to go online until tomorrow evening," she defined. "But I hacked into Big Shot online's database for something juicy, and boom! Here we are. ISSP only put it up a few minutes before I got there. See, this Estevez guy is supposedly one of the Syndicate's best people. If the cops get their hands on him, it'd be all over for the Red Dragons, especially if he knows as much about their operations as the feds are hoping." 

"Even for all that, a hundred million sounds a little pricey," said Faye curiously. "Back in the day, we were going after guys who did all the same stuff who had only half that reward on them. Don't you think maybe he's so expensive because actually trying to get him would be wandering into the realm of 'a little too risky'?" 

"Since when was risk ever a deciding factor for the Sisters Valentine?" Ed asked proudly. "Not only are you and I the first ones to have any knowledge of this, but we can be the ones to snatch him before his bounty is even made public!" 

"What have you got?" 

"I went into ISSP's FTP archives to see if I could find anything else on the guy. Turns out the reason they aren't putting the bounty online till tomorrow is 'cause they already know where he's gonna be next and they want the first crack at him." 

"What!?" 

"I couldn't believe it either at first," Ed agreed. "But then again it's because of BS like this that Jet quit the service, remember?" 

"So where's he gonna be?" asked Faye. "Can you look that up?" 

"Sure, no problem," she said, tapping on the keyboard again. "Over, under, in and out, that's what hacking's all about...Aw, crap." 

"What's wrong?" 

"Oh, they must have detected me last night, so they put up a firewall. Gimme a sec here..." Tap tap tap. A bee-like swarm of Ed smilies flooded the screen as she tried to force her way onto the restricted server. "Here we--ah, man!" Tap tap tap. "Please...they call this defense!?" Tap tap tap. "There. Easy money." 

"Those words are hardly synonymous," Faye joked. "What's it say in there?" 

"Let's see..." she thought out loud. Tap tap tap. "Early yesterday morning...the cops received an anonymous tip from somebody on Mars that Estevez's next target would be...World Energy HQ in New Milwaukee." She took a moment to assess the circumstances. "Well that makes perfect sense! WE has been in negotiations with Mars Power Inc. for the last three months. If the deal goes through, the CEO of Mars Power would resign, and since rumor has it he's in the Syndicate's pocket, if he gets put out of place, the Syndicate loses some of their extra income." 

"And they can't have that, now can they?" Faye replied, her forced sympathy nothing short of hilarious. "But what I'd like to know is, who could possibly have found out about the job?" 

"According to these reports, popular vote says either the Dragons are setting up Estevez for a fall, or..." Edward chuckled when she read the following line. "...or it was Estevez's ex-girlfriend who spilled the beans." 

"What dumb bitch would date that loony?" 

"Beats me," said Ed with a shrug of her shoulders. "But whatever the case, we have a huge inside tip, and we have the perfect means for a great setup of our own." 

"Call me skittish, Ed," Faye interjected, "but even if this whole schpeal is true, it's not like we can just walk into WE HQ and announce we're after some psychopath who hasn't even arrived yet." 

"Perhaps, but that's an option we won't even have to resort to," Ed answered, while she input another long, lightning-quick series of button combos and commands into her laptop. 

As she worked, Faye stopped the passing waiter and requested more breadsticks for their table. The waiter politely nodded and hustled off to fulfill her request. 

Edward reached her destination, and she brightened like a halogen bulb. She turned the computer toward Faye and waked around to the other side of the table so she could continue typing over her partner's shoulder. On the screen were several maps of what looked like the same building, indicating they were blueprints for each floor. 

"What the hell is this?" 

"The main menu of World Energy's security system," Ed explained. "Whatever the head of security is looking at, we can look at too." 

"Impressive. So why are we looking at this?" 

"So I can demonstrate how when we go there tomorrow night, we can catch Erik Estevez is a giant concrete mousetrap." 

Ed tapped some buttons, and the screen zoomed in on a small portion of one of the maps. The map enlarged and more detail on the floor was exhibited, and a second net window popped up, displaying the contents of a surveillance camera installed in that part of the building. Presented in eye-popping digital glory was a hallway occupied by a pair of plant technicians, casually chatting over cups of coffee during their break. 

"Aaaaah," said Faye with optimism. "So we can monitor where Estevez is in the building!" 

"Not just that," Ed added. "Check this out." 

She tapped a few more buttons. Over by a partition on the floor where a thick sliding metal door would be, a phone was mounted on the wall. A light on the phone started blinking, and one of the technicians turned to it. The scene was mute, so he must have heard it ringing. He said something along the lines of "Just a minute" to his friend, then walked toward the phone. 

Ed tapped some more. As the technician approached the phone, he came closer to the partition of the floor, which was the only thing between him and the phone. Suddenly, the giant door shot downward and closed off the area, and the technician walked right into it. He stumbled and fell on his rear end as the door slid up again, and his friend had a good laugh at his expense. With the phone was still ringing, the technician tried to approach it again. Ed entered the command again, and the door slid down again...this time right upon the unsuspecting fool's shoe. The technician screamed, and when the door released his toes, he hopped back and forth with his foot in his hands. The voiceless video made it all the more farcical. 

"Ooh," Edward cringed. "I'd better work on my timing." 

Faye couldn't answer, for she was too busy laughing until her face turned red. 

"But you get my point," said Ed, going back to her seat. "Once we confirm Estevez is in the building, I can trap him inside and you can keep him restrained long enough for us to turn him in!" 

"Are you certain about all this?" Faye queried, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "I mean, you're making this sound way too simple." 

"Sometimes, Faye, simple is the only way to go," Edward phrased. "We make this work, we walk out with double what took us three years to build up. In one night, we get a hundred million woolongs in the bank!" 

The waiter finally returned with a fresh basket of breadsticks, and he arrived just in time to hear Ed rant about the hundred million. He froze as he set down the basket, staring wide-eyed at both of them. Faye gave Ed the appropriate glare, and in response Edward, rolling her eyes, pulled some money out of her own pocket and set it in front of the waiter. 

"You didn't see nothin'," she decreed. 

The waiter made a Cheshire Cat's grin, took the money, and gladly walked off, nonverbally agreeing to forget whatever he heard. 

"We get this right, I'll get all the reimbursement I could ask for," Edward shrugged. "So...what does Faye-Faye think-think?" 

Faye took a breadstick, twirled it around in her fingers as she contemplated the game plan, then held it like a giant doughy cigar and chomped the end off it. She further considered the proposal as she chewed the bread again and again. 

"We can get those plasma cannons you've been pining for..." Ed sing-songed. 

Faye swallowed the bread and licked her lips. Whether it was for the bread or the thought of money, no one could tell. 

"Y'know, I hear Wisconsin is nice this time of year," she said.

********

"Are you in?" 

"Yeah, I'm in," Faye answered over the radio. "You can shut her down behind me." 

Ed, sitting with Ein outside the main entrance to the power plant, turned to the computer and opened up the right window. The surveillance camera she accessed confirmed Faye's position on the fourth floor, somewhere in the vicinity of the main control room, where they both agreed Estevez was most likely to be. Edward entered the command, and the door Faye had just passed slid shut. Faye, disguised as a plant technician, security badge and all, turned to the camera and gave it the thumbs up, knowing Ed would watching. Even if Faye couldn't see it, Edward returned the gesture. 

"Don't go rushing in or anything," she instructed. "Just act natural; you never know who you might run into in there." 

"No prob," said Faye. "How much time have we got?" 

"The ISSP is gonna be here in about forty-five minutes," Ed answered. "That'll be plenty of time, so we don't need to worry about that. Meanwhile, I'm gonna keep watching you with these cameras. Just call me the eyes of God." 

Ein groaned. 

"Oh, hush up." 

Ed tapped the keys and switched to four different surveillance cameras, each one showing a different hallway. All looked fine, and Faye was just coming into view of one of the cameras, when Ed noticed something strange on the bottom-right window. Something was peeking out from behind a corner that looked...like a human foot? Either someone was asleep at the switch, or... 

Then, for no apparent reason, all four video feeds began to crackle and distort, then went to complete static. 

"What the hell--!?!" 

"What's going on?" asked Faye. 

Ed called up random cameras throughout the building, all of them showing nothing but a spotted blizzard of static. 

"All the cameras have gone dead!" said Ed, her frustration growing. "I can't get anything anywhere. I've got no video here, Faye!" 

"Relax, kid," she said. "We've still got radio contact. I'll just have to be your eyes and ears. Do you still have the map of the floor?" 

"Never lost it." 

"Can you give me an infrared layout? I just need to know how many more people are here in case I need to dodge around someone." 

"Hold on..." said Edward as she typed the buttons. The color of the screen changed from black to blue, and throughout the floor, various multicolored spots decorated the halls. Strangely, only two of them were moving; one was going down a hallway, so Ed assumed it was Faye, while the other one was moving all over the main control room. Estevez. 

"Are you going down Hallway C toward B-wing?" Ed asked. 

"Uh...yeah, that's where I am. What's in my path here?" 

"Not much," she said. "Looks like we're right. Somebody's busy as hell in the main control room...but something else...it looks like there are several other people on the floor...but if these readings are right, they've been losing body heat for the last hour!" 

Ein looked at the screen and began to whimper, like he knew what it meant before anyone else. 

"Where are they?" asked Faye. 

"You're coming up on three of them right now. There's a corner about ten feet from you now. Turn left on it and tell me what you see." 

"Okay..." 

Ed watched the glowing Faye-spot move toward the corner and finally turn around it. Upon doing so, the spot froze as Faye was surveying the environment, then it instantly shot back and hid behind the corner again. 

"Faye, what is it!?" Edward asked urgently. "What's down there?" 

"He's here all right," Faye whispered, her voice blemished with surprise. "Bodies. Two technicians, and a security guard. They're all dead." 

"Dead!?" 

"Yes, Edward, D-E-A-D! My God, that sick bastard! Be lucky you're not down here, Ed...this is not pretty." 

"Faye, if you want to turn back, I can get that door open again in two seconds." 

"No," she refused, discharging her alarm. "No, if we don't get this guy, he's just going to do the same thing to the people at some other power plant or factory or wherever else the Syndicate is sending him! We've gotta take him down now, or maybe no one will! Is he still in the control room?" 

Edward hesitated. 

"Ed, is he still in the control room?" 

"Yeah, he's still there...It doesn't look like he's going anywhere." 

"I'm going in," Faye said, followed by the sound of her gun cocking. "Whatever happens, Ed...stay outside. Once I get to that control room, close the door behind me, and do not open it until I tell you to. Got it?" 

"Sure." 

A pause. Edward heard a door open, then close again. 

"Lock it up, Ed." 

Edward typed in the correct key combinations, and a red outline appeared over the diagram of the door displayed on the map, identifying it as locked. She sat back and listened to the sounds of running footsteps, and watched the map as Faye bolted down the corridor, following the signs to the control room. 

"Sensational stuff, huh boy?" she asked the data dog. 

Ein was about to sit down, but then he turned his head to the side. He must have seen something important, for he started barking his furry little head off. Meanwhile, Ed could just make out some conversation between Faye and a rather sinister-sounding individual, who she could only guess was this Erik Estevez. 

"Ein, pipe down!" Ed commanded. "What is wrong with you!?" 

BLAM! 

A bullet soared down from the sky and hit the ground not two feet from Ein. Edward jumped in shock, then grabbed the dog and her computer as she ducked behind a corner. More bullets came pouring down, thankfully only hitting the wall and the ground near them. One hit the very corner of the building and punched through it, just whizzing past Edward's right ear. 

"Dammit!" she cursed. "Faye, I'm getting shot at here! I don't know by who, but I've gotta move or I'm gonna be turned into Swiss Cheese Hacker with a side of Welsh Corgi! Is everything okay on your end?" 

"All's cool," Faye replied. "I've got the creep right where I want him." 

"Good...keep him that way," said Ed. "I'm gonna hook up on the other side of the building." 

She pulled the computer plugs from the exposed mass of wires in the fuse box. She hadn't heard any more shots from the mystery assassin, so he must have been reloading. Maybe she could get a look at who was trying to take her out. 

Slowly, Edward turned the corner and peeked out from behind it. Up on a balcony on the third floor, a man dressed all in black was stationed. Unfortunately, his facial features were indistinguishable, as along with all the black he wore a mask and goggles. Okay, so he obviously wasn't a security guard. As predicted, he was loading a second clip into his gun. And just as he finished, he spotted Edward taking a gander at him, so he aimed the firearm and continued firing. 

Ed dodged back behind the corner, picked up the computer, and started off toward the other side of the building, where she knew a similar set of wires could be found where she could hook up to the system. 

"I got away from the gunman, Faye," she called. "I'm on my way over." 

She got no response from Faye. She did, however, hear what sounded very much like tightened fists impacting against someone's body, followed by the injured grunts of...a woman. 

"Faye?" 

A few more punched were thrown, then a few gunshots were fired. Another punch was landed, and this time Ed could clearly make out the sound of Faye crying out in pain. 

"Faye!" 

Ed and Ein sprinted along the side of the building, almost passing by the area they were looking for. She jimmied open the panel in the wall, ripped out the wires, and reattached the plugs from her laptop into the exposed electronics so she could get instant access. She started typing the keys ferociously, waiting impatiently for a few of the programs to load up. 

"Hold on, Faye! I'm coming!" she cried. 

She only grew more and more anxious with each passing second, while over the radio she could hear Estevez beating down mercilessly upon Faye Valentine. Once in a while, she heard Faye return a blow, but it was obvious the fight already belonged to the hunted one. 

Edward finally got to where she needed to be; the map of the fourth floor. She zoomed in on the area near the main control room, and without another wasted moment entered the command to unlock the door. 

ACCESS DENIED

"What!?" 

She typed the command again. 

ACCESS DENIED

"Access denied my ass!" Edward snapped. "Open up, god damn you!" 

She entered the command again and again, and each time the words "ACCESS DENIED" were shot back at her. Screw this, she thought. She exited the menu for the fourth floor and returned to the security system's main menu. As if letting her fingers do the thinking for her, Edward hacked straight into the system's programming itself, letting a flood of code flash past the screen. She typed faster and faster and faster, until her hands became little more than a flesh-colored blur of motion. She entered the desired part of the program and initiated her list of commands, and she entered them in a method that she knew for certain would not be rejected. 

COMMAND ACCEPTED 

ALL DOORS OPEN

Over the radio: 

"AAARGH!....You little skeez!" 

Click. Click. Boom. 

Edward's entire body halted. That was a gunshot. And she heard nothing after it; no more thrown punches, no more cries of pain. Only a final parting remark from Erik Estevez: 

"Teach you to cut me, ya stupid shrew!" 

The map of the fourth floor reappeared, and the red outline surrounding the door of the main control room dissolved. At the same time, the entrance door right in front of Edward slid open. Having no more need for her equipment, she left it behind and galloped inside with Ein right behind her. She roared down the halls and up the stairs, and ran weaved through the labyrinth of the fourth floor, following the signs to the main control room. 

She turned a final corner and ran - say it was like the wind, say it was like a bat out of hell...all that mattered was that she ran her ass off - toward the open door at the other end. 

Every second, every step she ran, it felt like the hall was stretching longer and longer; like the laws of physics knew she didn't want to see what was on the inside of that room, and they tried to keep her from it for as long as they could. And as she neared her destination, time seemed to slow down to a crawling pace. Edward wished it would stop completely. Anything if it meant she didn't have to see what she knew was inside that room... 

She burst in, and on the other side of the room, she saw a reflection in a glass window of someone walking out another door. It was Estevez, blood on his hands and his clothing, and with a freshly-made cut along the edge of his jawbone, presumably what he had gotten so angry over before. Just as she passed under the exit and the door closed behind him, he turned his head and caught a brief glimpse of Faye Valentine's hopeful savior. 

Edward's eyes turned from the window to the floor. 

In the very middle of the room, curled into a ball, a constantly growing pool of blood flowing from her, was Faye Valentine. 

Ed rushed to Faye's side and turned her onto her back, gasping and almost retching at the gunshot wound in her stomach. Faye was clutching it as tightly as she could, hoping to suppress the bleeding, but the look on her face, especially after seeing Edward's reaction to the damage, made it seem like even she knew there was no hope. 

"Faye..." Edward called. "Faye, talk to me..." 

"Ed..." she whispered. "...Ed, I'm so sorry..." 

"You?" Ed asked in disbelief. "Faye, this is my fault! I could have done something, I could have gotten her in time to help you! I'm the one who's sorry!" 

"No..." said Faye, "no, Edward, it isn't...You have nothing to be sorry for....You changed...you changed everything for me, Ed...You came out of nowhere...and you made everything bright again....and...you even saved my life once...." 

As the tears began to fall, Ed found herself unable to understand Faye's babbling. "What are you talking about?" 

"That day...that day we met back in Taiwan..." she said, the life slowly draining, "...the minute I had finished by food...the balcony, Ed....I was going to jump off of it..." 

Only adding to her fear and sadness, Ed could feel a massive swell of bewilderment at the unanticipated confession. 

"...I was going to kill myself...but you changed all that...You came into my life, and you gave me...you gave me a reason to live again, Ed....You gave a reason to keep going...You gave me a reason to be happy again...because I'd finally found someone to share my life with...I'd found something...someone to care about..." 

"Faye, it's going to be all right," Edward sobbed, knowing she was telling a bold-faced lie. "It'll be okay..." 

Suddenly, with a final eruption of physical energy, Faye reached out one arm and grabbed hold of Edward's hand. Ed held the hand tightly, clasping both of her own around it. Faye's fingers wriggled around, and she set something inside Edward's palm. Ed didn't even need to look at it, for she knew it that mysterious object she always saw Faye fingering in her pocket all those years. 

"Ed..." she said, on her last stretch of life, "Ed, you're not just my partner...or my student...or even my friend...Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the fourth...you are my family...You are my sister...and I love you...I love so very much." 

While the tears soaked her face, Edward gulped and tightened her grip on Faye's hand. 

"I love you too, Faye," she whimpered. 

Faye could no longer keep up the strength to hold up her head. She let it fall back against the floor, and she lay on her side and closed her eyes to no more than a slit. 

"It's...all a dream...isn't it?" 

"Yeah..." Ed whispered, "...just...just a bad dream." 

The eyes closed completely, and all that was holding Faye's hand in the air was Edward's grasp on it. 

"Faye, no," she weepingly pleaded. "Don't go, Faye-Faye...Please don't leave me...Come back..." 

Outside, a violent explosion went off, and the entire building shook. Edward ignored it. She didn't even hear it. She lost all control and threw herself on top of the body of Faye Valentine, her tears pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain, and her sobs echoing through the cold steel room like a legion of wailing spirits. 

Ein whimpered as he sat next to Faye's lifeless face. He licked the tip of her nose, then repeated the act a few times as if hoping she would respond to it. When he finally realized she would not, he turned his head to sky and began to howl in mourning. 

"Please come back..."   
  


  


**_I'M NOT SURE ABOUT LIFE AFTER THIS..._**


	9. A Pirate Looks at Forty

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 9:**  
**_A Pirate Looks at Forty_**  


Jet couldn't get an iota of sleep. It was enough that he had a good bit troubling his mind, despite his best efforts to quell it, but it also didn't help that his left leg was still killing him. Sure, the wound had been treated well and his entire thigh was wrapped up nice and tight, but it ached like something was twisting a knife into his nerves. Taking a bullet could do that to a guy. And who did he have to blame for that? Spike Spiegel, that afro-topped troublemaker, that's who. If Jet ever saw that little shit again, he'd... 

A faint shuffle of someone's shoes on the floor of the _Bebop_ living room broke Jet's train of thought. He rolled slightly, and turned his head to look over his shoulder. 

Standing in the darkness, a single man stood. He was a tall lanky fellow, dressed in a worn blue suit, a faded yellow shirt with the top unbuttoned, and a black tie loosely hanging from his neck. Jet could barely make out his eyes - colored in two different shades of brown - and his head of fuzzy hair that looked dark green in what little light there was. 

Jet rolled off his back and took an upright seated position on the couch. He'd have leapt clear off it if it weren't for his bum leg. 

"Spike!" he cried. "You're...you're back!" 

Spike Spiegel stepped forward a little, letting a slim sliver of light come upon his face. He looked tried. To hell with tired, he looked just plain beat. 

"You got anything to eat?" he asked. "I'm really starving." 

********

Jet smiled happily while the cigarette in his hands slowly burned away. He didn't know why he was holding it; he didn't even feel like smoking it. He didn't even know why he was smiling. He just felt some strange sensation of satisfaction while he watched Spike scarf down the hastily-prepared food. It was nothing more than a plate of assorted vegetables, but it seemed to quench Spike's appetite just fine. 

Spike set down the chopsticks and wiped his mouth on his forearm. 

"This food is terrible," he critiqued. "As usual." 

"For it being so bad, you sure ate a lot of it," Jet replied. 

"Well, they say hunger is the best spice," said Spike. 

Jet at last felt like inhaling some smoke. He brought the filter to his lips, while Spike lay back against the couch and half-closed his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, though there wasn't anything of interest up there. 

"Have you ever heard a story that goes like this?" he suddenly asked. 

Jet exhaled as he gave Spike his full attention. 

"There was once a tiger-striped cat," he narrated. "It died a million deaths, and was reborn a million times. It went from one life to the next, and was owned by various people who he really didn't care much for. And he was just fine with that, because he wasn't afraid to die. Then in one life, the tiger-stiped cat met another cat; a white female. They fell in love, and they lived together happily. But then one day, the white cat grew weak and died of old age. The tiger-striped cat cried a million times, and then he died too...and he didn't come back." 

Once he finished, he leaned forward and stared at his plate. Jet took another breath of cancer smoke and smiled again. 

"That's a good story," he said. 

"I hate that story," Spike returned. 

Jet gave a glance of surprise to his partner, who looked up at him with a humored smirk. 

"I hate cats, Jet." 

He chuckled at the unforeseen punchline. "Oh yeah..." 

There was a brief period of silence between them, then they both started bursting into uproarious laughter. It really wasn't that funny, but the laughing felt appropriate nonetheless. They chortled together for a long while, their voices carrying through the entire ship. 

Ultimately, as the laughter died down, Spike rose from his seat on the couch and started walking out of the room, heading toward the hallway that led to the hangar. Jet felt all the humor run out of his system as he watched Spike leave once again. 

This is the last time, he thought. I'm not going to see him again. 

Did he really care that much? Even Jet couldn't answer that question. But at least there was one question he could ask: 

"Spike..." he called. "What you're doing...Is it for the woman?" 

Spike stopped in his tracks. He remained still while he contemplated his answer. He didn't bother turning around. 

"There's nothing more I can do for a dead woman," he answered. 

With nothing else to say, he kept on walking. 

Jet remained seated where he was for who knows how long. He thought he heard voices coming from the hallway - some sort of argument between what sounded like Faye and Spike - but he ignored it, because whatever it was, it wasn't his business. Just like Spike. Spike Spiegel was no longer Jet Black's concern. There was nothing more he could do a for man who was all but dead. 

He took a walk over to the observation deck. The frame of one of the windows there had a smudge on it. It was small and almost invisible, but it had been there for what seemed like months, and Jet thought he'd go insane if he didn't finally so something about it. 

Off in the distance, several gunshots went off. It sounded like he'd have to pluck bullets out of the walls. Wouldn't be the first time. 

He grabbed a dustrag sitting on a table and walked up to the dirty window frame. He wiped once, with no overt results. He wiped again and again and again, still seeing no real change. 

Whatever. It's not like he had anything better to do. 

********

"It's not fair..." 

_ Isn't it?_

"It's not fair, Faye...it wasn't your time..." 

_ Who are you to judge that?_

"It wasn't your time! It wasn't! It should have been me!"

_ No, it shouldn't._

"Yes! It should have been me, Faye! It's not fair!" 

_ I always told you life wasn't fair._

"But that's why we were together, wasn't it!? We were going to _make_ it fair! We were going to make it do what _we_ wanted!" 

_ But we couldn't._

"Of course we could! We could have done whatever we wanted! You said so, remember? 'We can go wherever we want, and take whatever this old ball of rock can throw at us!' You said that, Faye! You knew everything! Why did you have to be wrong!? I looked up to you...I idolized you! How could you betray me like that!?"

_ I did no such thing._

"Yes you did! You promised me we'd take care of each other! We'd be there for one another! But you made me break that promise! You just had to go in there alone, didn't you!? You had to a big shot, didn't you!? I couldn't be there for you when you needed me!"

_ But you were there for me._

"No, I wasn't! I let you die! I was the one who convinced you to go to that stupid place, and I let you die! It wasn't your time, Faye! It's not fair!" 

_ Isn't it?_

"It isn't!" 

_ Isn't it?_

"No, it's not!" 

_ Isn't it?_

"NOOOOOOOOOOO...!" 

Edward shot up in bed, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. She took a look around. She was no longer in the main control room of the World Power energy plant, nor had she been there at all, at least not since that horrid day that remained so graphically carved into her memory. She was in a bedroom...a very familiar once. And there was an odd aroma in the air of cigarette smoke mixed with bonsai trees that confirmed her suspicions of where she was. 

_Bebop_. 

She didn't know how Jet managed to get to her in time, but she was thanking any god she could think of that he did. 

She lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut, wiping both hands over her perspiration-soaked hair. Good lord, she had such a headache. She felt a bandage on the left side of her forehead, an area that throbbed painfully. It must have been where that asshole Crey had hit her. Ed had resisted the temptation to kill the lying bastard before back on Io. Dammit, she wished she had answered to that animalistic desire. 

Edward heard the door open, and she saw a shadow walk in and lean against the doorway. She looked up and saw her savior, the Black Dog, standing in the entrance to the room, arms crossed, head down, eyes closed. 

"How long have I been out?" she groaned, her voice scratchy as steel wool. 

"Two days," he answered. 

"Aldrin Hill?" 

"Blown straight to hell." 

"Have they been anywhere else yet?" 

"No one's seen or heard from him since then." 

She noticed his posture and the position of his head. Was he intentionally avoiding eye contact with her? 

"Jet, why are you--" she started. 

She glanced over to his side and caught sight of a little stool next to the door, where her clothing, including her bikini top, were neatly folded and stacked in a pile. They had been washed and ironed, but the fact that they were not on Edward's body was what caught her immediate perception. She looked down at herself, and, validating her self-conscious fears, realized she was almost in the nude. With a high-pitched shriek, she clawed at the bed sheet and covered herself with it. 

"Jet..." she hissed, "why are my clothes over there?" 

"You were running a pretty bad fever," he said. "I didn't want you to overheat." He smirked as he opened his eyes and looked at her. "If it makes you feel any better, I swear I didn't peek." 

Edward blushed. 

"Thanks..." she hesitantly answered. "Now please...get out." 

********

Ed grabbed a few more hours of sleep, which she felt she needed even after her unwanted two-day slumber. After all, voluntarily falling asleep and getting bludgeoned unconscious by the butt of a gun were two very different things. At least with falling asleep one didn't wake up with a migraine...unless of course one got nice and drunk the previous evening, but that's another matter entirely. 

While she stretched to work off her chronic stiffness, Edward grabbed the pile of her clothes and pulled them on. She didn't feel like dealing with the bikini top, so she opted to throw on her bleached-gray shirt and button it down the front. She stretched a little more, then, as was usual for her morning wake-up routine, jumped onto the edge of the bed and moonsaulted off it, just to snap out any leftover cricks in her spine. While on the floor, she did some clapping push-ups to test her arm strength, completing three full repetitions in under a second. Lastly, she bent over and balanced herself on the top of her head, somersaulted forward, and whipped herself back onto her feet. Flawless. 

That's just when she heard a familiar beep. You know, that "You've got mail!" beep. 

Beside the bed she found her backpack, which contained just about all of her computer equipment. It seemed Jet had been nice enough to bring it on out of RedTail's cockpit. 

Ed pulled the laptop out first, since it was the source of the beep, and set it down on the edge of the bed. She switched it on, working her way to the desktop, where she directly opened up her email account. A real-time communique was waiting for her to respond. The sender was anonymous, except for a single smiley icon next to the flashing link; a yellow circle, wrapped in bandages where the face would be, and a pair of black sunglasses. 

She grumbled at the sight of it. That was the same icon she saw one fateful day when she encountered a mysterious hacker known as The Unknown Bounty. 

As she reached toward the keyboard to activate the link, her hand stopped a few times, hesitant to answer to who she knew was on the other end of the line. Eventually, she gave in and hit the enter key. 

A net window opened up, and where the name and location of the sender usually were shown, there was only a series of question marks. An old trick, but a good one. And sitting within the frame of the window, smiling spitefully, was the man Edward once knew as Crey Jenét DeSanto. 

"Had me worried a second," he said. "You weren't answering, so I figured you had died after all. How's your head?" 

"Oh, your compassion is overwhelming," she icily answered. "My head's just fine, thank you...at least compared to how yours is gonna feel once I impale it on a steel pipe." 

"Hey now, don't excite yourself," said Crey. "Wouldn't want you to pass out." 

"Up yours," she replied. "I'll give you all the credit in the world, man; you're one hell of an actor, you know that? That's the only way I couldn't see right through you from the very beginning. Hell, I probably should have after just hearing your damn name. It sounded so fake, you were practically begging me to bust you on it. Not that I care or anything, but who are you really?" 

Crey tipped his head and bowed as he reintroduced himself: "Crey Costanza Estevez, at your service, m'lady." 

"Double-C," said she. "Cute." 

"Well, it does drive the ladies wild." 

"Why did you do it, Crey? I want to believe so badly it was because you're as crazy as your brother, but I can't bring myself to think you're anything like him. Brother or not." 

"Denial, denial, denial..." he taunted. "Did our one night together on Io really hit you that hard?" 

"Answer the question, douchebag." 

He thinned his gaze and leaned in uncomfortably close to the screen. She could almost smell his dragon's breath. 

"I did it because..." he said, "...Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children." 

Frustrated, Edward grabbed the sides of the screen and shook it like she thought she actually had a grip on Crey's throat. 

"Can the O'Barr, Crey!" she snapped. "Why did you set me up!?" 

"Remember what I told you about my mother, Ed?" he asked. "That she didn't just die, she was really murdered? I may have lied about my name and my intentions, but that, Edward dear, was a cold hard fact. And I also told the truth when I said the cops never found the one who did...but it didn't matter, because Erik and I knew all along. And we took care of it ourselves. Would you like to know who did it, Ed?" 

"You, I imagine." 

"Wrong," he steamed, leaning in even closer. "Your partner...Faye Valentine." 

She paused. 

"What?" 

"'Fraid so, honey," said Crey. "I saw the police report myself. Jessica Jade Estevez, shot and killed by Faye Valentine, April 19th, 2072. I read it all in black and white, Ed. We took your family...you took ours first." 

Edward couldn't move. She stared back at Crey, her eyes opened their widest yet, and her mouth stupidly hanging open as she absorbed this dramatically disturbing revelation. Faye Valentine...a heartless killer? No...no, it couldn't possibly-- 

Interrupting her thoughts, Crey typed a few buttons on his own keyboard. Another net window appeared displaying an image, a small scan from a newspaper article dated the 20th of April, 2072. The center attraction in the scan was a pair of photographs; one was of a blonde woman, late-40s, who Ed could guess was the notorious "Double-J" Estevez, and the other was without a shred of a shadow of a doubt the one and only Faye Valentine. Both pictures were subtitled with captions to confirm their respective identities. The accompanying text was mostly cut off, but from a quick visual scan Edward could make out the only pertinent facts; Jessica Estevez was dead, and Faye Valentine was the one who pulled the trigger. 

"To remove any uncertainty," he illustrated. 

"Then that whole night at World Power..." she slowly realized. "...You fed me that inside tip!?" 

"Actually, your finding out about World Power was perfect coincidence," Crey admitted, "not to mention a huge stroke of luck. We figured with a hundred million bounty the infamous 'Sisters Valentine' would be after us sooner or later, so it just a matter of separating the two of you while Erik did in Ms. Valentine." 

"That was you on the balcony." 

"Yep." 

"In the mask." 

"Yep." 

"With the gun." 

"Almost turned that pup of yours into Corgi-kabobs, if memory serves." 

Edward couldn't bear to hear anymore. She raised both fists over her head and brought them down simultaneously against the laptop. The screen cracked, the image distorted and blackened, and the keyboard was broken in two with buttons flying in multiple directions. 

After destroying the hapless laptop, Edward remained kneeled on the floor, digging her trembling fists into the smashed keyboard, ignoring a small shard of the screen plastic that was digging into the side of her finger. She stared in empty space, her heavy breaths the only sound she head. Her body at last loosened, she collapsed, and she curled into a ball upon the floor. 

She buried her head in her hands and broke down into tears once again. 

********

Ed made sure Jet wasn't around when she slipped into the shower. She was feeling a little grubby, and after sobbing on the floor of her bedroom for the past half hour, she could use it just to hide the fact that she'd been crying. Edward respected Jet, who she saw as a soldier - always standing tall and proud, always strong, never one to let his feelings get the better of him. She couldn't condone letting him see her in emotional disarray. 

The shower felt exhilaratingly refreshing, despite the water being quite cold. After seven years, Jet still couldn't get the freakin' heater to work. 

When she stepped out of the shower room, she only wore her pants and shirt, and had a towel half-wrapped around her head as she rubbed it against her soaking scalp. She paused for a moment as her feet hit the floor in the _Bebop_'s main corridor. It had been a long time since she walked barefoot through the ship. Some good memories drowned her mind while the texture of the cold floor flooded her toes. 

Since waking up, it had never once occurred to her to find out where exactly she was. Hanging the towel over her shoulders, she walked through the ship and onto the observation deck, where the _Bebop_'s location was cinematically showcased through the line of circular windows along the outside wall. They were still in the Jupiter area, in orbit around Ganymede. Looking down and around the hull of the ship's port side, she saw the capitol city below. Its lights were still out, and she could see the tiny little crater-like dot that represented where the Aldrin Hill Power Plant used to be. 

She turned her head up and took in an eye-level vista of the moon's glowing horizon, as well as the mighty outline of the gas giant itself, its big red spot poking out like a walloping bloodshot eye. The front edge of the ship's landing platform was pointing straight at it. 

An oddly-shaped silhouette was glimpsed out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to examine it. An old-fashioned child's toy, a pinwheel, its blades perpetually spinning in the zero-friction vacuum of space, was duct-taped to the side of the hull. 

"Oh, man," said Ed, smiling. "I can't believe he still has that thing." 

"It's never left that spot," Jet's voice replied. 

Edward whirled around and saw Jet seated at a table in the middle of the room, using the light from the planet as his only illumination while he poked a pair of pruning shears at a single bonsai tree. 

"I tried a couple times, but I never abandoned hope that maybe you'd just come wandering back some day," he said. "Just to be sure, I told myself the day that pinwheel stops spinning was the day I'd finally accept that you were for good. I tried that sort of thing once before...except then it didn't work out quite as well as I'd hoped. Funny thing is, everywhere I've gone since you split, there's always been at least some soft breeze to keep the pinwheel going, and then when I'm out in space like this, there's nothing to stop it." 

"I didn't realize my absence meant so much to you," said Ed, walking down the steps and taking a stand next to Jet. "I figured you'd just toss the thing once you found out I was gone...I never expected to see still it on this ship of all places." 

"Actually, putting it on the hull was Spike's idea." 

"No kidding?" 

"Didn't say a word about it," Jet recounted. "Just grabbed some tape and stuck it there." 

"Never would have thought Spike'd do something all sentimental like that," she said. "That just doesn't sound like him. I mean, I always got the feeling he kinda hated me." 

Jet sniggered. "He hated three things in this universe: pets, kids, and women with attitude." 

"And with all three around him, he must have been in hell." 

"Nah..." he shrugged. "For him, being here was more like purgatory then hell. I don't think Spike really hated you. He just didn't understand you. Hell, none of us did...and none of us even tried until after you left." 

"I guess I'm just one of those people who defy rational understanding," she joked. 

"I suppose so," said Jet. "But in the meantime, you wanna help me understand why I had to fish you out of a burning building?" 

Ed sighed and rubbed her forehead. Just as her headache was finally beginning to fizzle out, Jet had to start just the right conversation to bring it all back again. 

"I trusted the wrong guy," she explained, while she took the table seat 90 degrees left of him. "Classic story of heartbreak: girl meets boy, girl goes ga-ga for boy's dashing good looks, boy charms his way into girl's confidence...and her pants..." She dismissed Jet's quizzical facial reply. "...boy trips girl into a razor-wired snare trap." 

"Perhaps you could go into a little further detail?" 

"When I looked into Fatty's, I met this guy...another bounty hunter, or so it seemed. He fed me this gut-wrenching story about how Double-E killed his older brother. Then right before he knocked me for a loop, it was brought to my attention that Estevez _is_ his older brother." 

"Double-E has a brother!?" asked Jet. 

"Yeah," said Ed with disappointment. "And I fell for all his soulful bullshit like a first-rate sucker. And thanks to my continued lapses in judgment, I almost got sucked into the same hole they tossed Faye into a year ago. Man, what good's a sky-high IQ if you only use a big pumping heart in lieu of a brain?" 

"I don't get it," Jet wondered. "Why would they have gone to that much trouble to take the both of you out like that?" 

Edward folded her arms and rest her head down on the table top. 

"Because they think Faye murdered their mother." 

"WHAT!?" he squawked, while his shears snipped off an entire bonsai branch he didn't intend to. 

"April 19th, 2072, he said," Edward clarified. "A full three months before she and I hooked up in Taiwan." 

Jet leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin. 

"And four months after she up and took off from _Bebop_ without any warning," he said. "Which leaves a whole seven-month window where neither of us knows where she was, or what she'd been doing..." 

"Or what she'd been drinking," Ed added. "And Faye was quite unwilling to discuss anything that took place before we met that July." 

"Which means," Jet concluded, "for all we know, she did kill Jessica Estevez." 

"I won't believe that for a second, Jet," she declared. "Not even if I wanted to. Faye Valentine couldn't possibly have killed another human being, either in hot or cold blood." 

Jet made a low-pitched grunt while he set down his shears and removed his gloves. "If anything, Faye Valentine proved on only a number of occasions that we don't know her nearly as well as we thought." 

Edward slammed her palms against the table as she stood up and loomed over Jet. 

"_I_ knew her!" she thundered, the watery feeling returning to her eyes. "I knew her better than anybody in this universe! And certainly better than anybody on this ship!" 

An unpleasant silence followed, and Edward calmed herself when Jet's only response was a stunned, wide-eyed stare. Her arms buckled underneath her and she fell back into her seat, lowering her head and covering her face with her hands, again to conceal her crying from Jet. 

"God, Jet, I'm sorry," she lamented. 

"Don't worry about it," he soothingly answered. "We all go a little mad sometimes." 

"This whole thing has gotten crazier and crazier since it started," she rued. "I can't makes heads or tails of anything anymore." 

"Ed, that's exactly what Estevez wants," Jet raved. "He says Faye killed his mom. I say taking his word for it is out of the question. There's got to be more to it than what he's telling you. I mean, the whole 'you killed my mother' excuse is just as old as 'he took my woman'...and just as cliched too, now that I think about it. I was wrong about what I said before. I realize that. I may not have known her as well as I hoped to, but even a rusty old fart like me knows Faye Valentine was no murderer!" 

The entire statement itself was an uplifting sentiment. However it was Jet's allusion of how well he'd _hoped_ to know Faye that caught Edward's awareness. She looked up at him and saw his face locked in that usual grim, cavalier expression of his, but something in those big blue eyes of his...some tiny, near-microscopic twinkle...told her she should delve further into the meaning of those few words, however insignificant. 

She gulped as she determined the best way to pronounce her request. 

"Jet..." she slowly voiced, "...what happened between you and Faye before she left? I asked her once, and all she would tell me was that you parted on bad terms. What really went on?" 

Jet kept staring for a moment, then closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair again, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

"Please, Jet..." she begged. "I have to know." 

Still no answer. 

"You don't have pretend with me," Ed whispered. "I may have been just a kid back then, but I know you felt something for her, Jet. Somewhere underneath that petrified forest you call a face, you had those kinds of feelings, I'm sure of it. Just tell me, please...what happened?" 

He paused and blew from his lungs a puff of discontent. 

"To tell you the truth," he said, "it's one big melodramatic clutter that I can't even understand. These days, I'm still tryin' to figure out the who's and what's and if's and but's of the whole thing. Six years have gone by since she left, and I still don't know where it all went wrong." 

"That doesn't answer my--" 

Edward stopped in mid-sentence when she happened to glance at Jet's left hand, still buried in his pants pocket. She could see it moving around...like it was constantly fingering some small object therein. 

She watched, and she almost gasped at how familiar this seemed. 

"Jet..." she asked, "...what's in your left hand?" 

He looked up at her with shock. "Huh?" 

"There's something in your left pocket," she went on. "I can see you moving it around in there. Now what is it?" 

"Nothing." 

"Jet..." 

"There's nothing in there, Ed." 

"Jet, don't play this game with me!" she barked. 

They stared each other down for a few seconds. Jet obviously wouldn't admit he had something in his hand, just as Edward wouldn't stop asking until he either changed his answer or showed her the mysterious object. 

Finally, Jet slowly and agonizingly pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened his fingers. This time, Edward did gasp. 

Lying in Jet's palm was a single ring, solid gold, polished to a lustrous shine. It was made just large enough to fit on one of Jet's fingers. 

"I gave one just like it to her," he said. "I didn't know how to ask; I'd never done it before. So I just showed it to her, and let her figure out on her own what I wanted to know. She gave me the most bizarre look...musta thought I was out of my mind. I don't blame her...I must have been a little crazy to ask her at all. We hadn't been together for long, and I knew it was way too sudden, but all I knew was that it felt right. She asked if I could give her a week to think about it. I said, 'Take all the time you need. I'll still be waiting when you're done.' At the end of that week, I looked in her room, and all her stuff was gone, and so was her ship. And so was she." 

Edward was absolutely speechless. She simply couldn't believe all this was coming from the great Jet Black...the stone wall, the rock, the hard place. He had always been somewhat of a bittersweet being, but this threw all previous expectations clear out the window. 

"I tried to be there for her," he continued. "God knows I wanted to. I wanted to make it work. But I guess if it just ain't meant to be, no amount of trying is gonna make it work. And it just wasn't working." 

"Because she was still in love with Spike," Ed inserted. 

"I don't know what exactly she felt for Spike," Jet responded. "But I knew when he left and didn't come back, it hurt her...just like it hurt me. Maybe that's what really brought us together; that collective emptiness we both felt. Not really the best way to start a relationship. It's no wonder it fell apart." 

"Jet--" 

"It was probably because of me anyway," he said. "She knew all about the last time I had a woman in my life. I don't know if you remember this, but there's this girl on Ganymede that I lived with years ago...and she left me one day out of the blue. When I was finally able to ask her why, she said it was because of me. I had to be one in charge, the one who made all the decisions. I had to be the protector. She wanted a life of her own...and she couldn't have it with me. I was just too much of a man for her, and that drove her away. Go figure it'd happen all over again." 

The silence and stillness returned. Jet looked at the ring in his hands, and he sort of grimaced at it. 

"I don't even know why I'm still holdin' on to this stupid thing!" he growled. "Hell, I'll betcha anything Faye went and pawned hers the day after she left." 

"No!" Edward cried as she shot to her feet. "Jet, she didn't get rid of it!" she said. "Faye never would have pawned it! She never let it out of her sight! And I know this..." 

She reached into her own left pocket, fished around, and pulled something of her own out and showed it to Jet. 

It was a ring, nearly identical to the one Jet held, except sized smaller to fit a woman's hand. Jet stared at the ring with unsurpassed astonishment, for he hadn't seen it since giving it to Faye, only to see it once again in the hands of her disciple. 

"...Because right before she died, she gave it to me." 

He blinked only once. 

"Jet, she cherished this," Edward revealed. "She worshipped it. And everytime she was afraid she might have lost it, she'd practically tear up the room to find it again. This was like her god, Jet. It was her religion, her holy scripture. Faye would have done anything and everything to keep it at her side." 

Jet stared at the ring for a long while, then slumped back into his chair, lowered his head, and closed his eyes once again, smiling subtly. 

"Never woulda thought..." he mumbled. 

Edward watched him with confusion. "Never woulda thought?" That's all he had to say? Ed had all but confirmed that Faye felt the same way for him that he felt for her - a revelation that would floor any normal man - and his only response to the entire concept was the simple-minded comment of "Never woulda thought?" 

Confusion turned into frustration, frustration into anger, and then... 

She scowled at Jet, baring her teeth. She lifted up one hand, wiped it through the air, and delivered a hard, vicious slap to Jet Black's face. 

"Dammit, Jet, why do you always have to be so stoic!?" she screamed. "All this time, after everything you've said and done, you still haven't learned a god damn thing, have you!? It's like you do this on purpose! That's it, isn't it!? You act so cold, so unfeeling that you drive everyone away from you! You did it to Spike, you did it to Faye, and dammit, now you're doing it to me! Damn you!" 

Jet sat inanimately in his chair with one hand over his stinging cheek, while a glaze of consternation masked his face as he listened to Edward's enraged rant. She struggled to enunciate further words, her entire body trembling as she tried to resist the temptation to strike him again. And she almost gave in to her impulses, for she shot her hands forward with the intention of choking him with them, but stopped before her fingers met his neck. She leaned down, stared him dead in the eyes, and shrilled again: 

"DAMN YOU!" 

With that, she ran out of the room, wiping the tears from her eyes. 

"Edward, wait!" Jet pleaded, getting up from his seat. 

Ed disappeared down the hallway, and a few seconds later he heard the door to her bedroom slam shut. Even through the door and down the hall, he could hear her sobbing. Going after her now was pointless. Jet could easily tell this matured Edward was a proud woman, almost as proud as either he or Faye. He knew it would kill her to be seen with tears gushing from her eyes by someone she respected as much as Jet. 

"She didn't mean it," he told himself. "She didn't mean it." 

As if waiting for the most inappropriate time, the phone rang. 

Jet looked at the edge of the table and saw the hand-held communicator, the source of the noise. He slowly picked it up and looked at the sender's address. It was listed as "Anonymous". 

He brought the comm to his ear. "Hello?" 

A raspy, sinister voice answered: 

"You've got a lot of love for that little girl, don't you?" 

"Who is this?" Jet demanded. 

"You do, don'tcha?" the caller repeated. "It's really sweet, I think. And I mean that, really I do. I mean, you two have known each other a long, looong time...I'd say you're something of a second father to her...or maybe more likely she's the daughter you never had." 

"Maybe she is...what the hell is it to you?" 

"Nothing really," Erik Estevez answered. "'Bout as much as any other kinship I've destroyed, blood or surrogate. Doesn't much matter to me either way. I like to think I'm an equal opportunity homicidal maniac." 

Jet growled. "I don't know what kind of game you're trying to play, but I'll tell you one thing straight up, asshole. If you so much as hurt one red hair on her pretty little head, I swear, with God as my witness, I will personally hunt you down and skin you like a fucking mink." 

"Don't make me laugh," Estevez replied. "What could you possibly do to me?" 

"Son, do you know what they call me?" asked Jet. "The Black Dog. 'Cause once I sink my teeth in, you're damn sure I'm not lettin' go." 

The caller stalled for a moment. 

"We'll see, old man," he said. "You try me, and we'll just see who's walkin' away with the teethmarks." 

Click. He hung up. 

Jet set the comm back on the table. He stood perfectly still for a minute after that, staring at the table and its contents; the comm, the gloves, the shears, and of course the bonsai. Jet focused his eyes on the tiny tree, like he'd suddenly realized it was to blame for all his past misfortunes, even if he knew better. He narrowed his gaze, and all his thoughts started to merge together into the inane but strangely logical hatred of the plant. 

He ground his teeth, grabbed the tree by its topmost branch, turned 180 degrees, and with a furious yell flung the bonsai clear across the room like a baseball. It hit the far wall in an explosion of soil, leaves, and of pieces of pottery, then the entire mess fell to the floor and spread out a little before finally settling. 

He heaved his shoulders and squeezed his fists till the bones cracked and nearly punctured the skin. Eventually he relaxed and took a deep breath, then walked to the nearest closet to fetch a broom and dustpan. If he didn't clean it up now, he'd forget about it later and probably never get around to it. 

Whatever. It's not like he had anything better to do.   


  
  


**_I FEEL LIKE I'VE DROWNED..._**


	10. Hero

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 10:**  
**_Hero_**  


"That was you on the balcony." 

"Yep." 

"In the mask." 

"Yep." 

"With the gun." 

"Almost turned that pup of yours into Corgi-kabobs, if memory serves." 

The last thing Crey saw was Edward's fists plummeting downward. The image in the communique window turned to static, then to black, accompanied by the alert message "CONNECTION LOST". Crey closed his laptop and chuckled. 

"She's crazy about me," he said to himself. 

He slipped the computer into his backpack, slung his guitar over one shoulder, then walked out the door and into the bedroom next door. Inside, his older brother Erik was rapidly plunging random articles of clothing and small explosives into his own bag. 

"Erik, come on!" Crey griped. "We've only got five hours till the next barrier check. If we don't make it to the gate by then, we'll never get off this rock!" 

"Keep your shirt on, will ya!? Erik shot. "I just got back from the place, and I'm movin' as fast as I can! Trust me, we'll be long gone from this dump before the big boom even hits the news. You got the truck packed up?" 

"Always," he said. "Everything's ready for the next one." 

"Killer." 

He finally finished packing and zipped up his baggage. Side by side, the brothers of destruction walked down the hall and out the door. 

"Y'know, you'd be slouching a lot more if it weren't for me," Crey bragged. 

"Yeah, yeah, you're the great mastermind. Move your pony-tailed ass." 

He shut and locked the door behind him. 

Too bad in his haste, he forgot all about the white manila folder still sitting on the bed. 

********

Morning came with little fanfare. There was no alarm clock to notify her of the correct wake-up time, but nonetheless Edward's brain instinctively knew when no more sleep was necessary or even possible, so it would send the right impulse to the rest of her body to jolt herself awake. Strangely, she didn't even remember crawling into bed. She remembered screaming a hole in Jet's head, then running off to her room like a spoiled little brat, and lastly swooning to the floor in a shower of her own tears. She must have fallen asleep doing so, then in her sleep undressed and spent the rest of the night in a more comfortable place. 

Jet...crap. The morning meant one other thing; she'd have to face him. She almost fell unconscious again when she recalled word for word the crazy, irresponsible things she said to him before. 

Well, she was going to have to face him again eventually, whether she liked it or not, so she might as well suck it up and get it over with. 

This in mind, Edward still exited her room with extreme caution, this time wearing only an undergarment and her buttoned overshirt as a makeshift nightgown. With her bare feet stealthily cushioning her steps, she crept down the hall and first onto the observation deck. Failing to find Jet there, she went into the gravity ring corridor. No one there either. Next came the kitchen, which carried the scent of someone having been in there recently, but otherwise nothing. Which left only one other place he might be... 

She tiptoed down the stairs and into the heart of the ship, where the living room was located. Lying on the couch was Jet, soundly snoozing, or at least that's what the derelict newspaper blindfolding his face suggested. 

Ed' first thought was to blurt out an apology, but she needed a while to think of the right things to say. That, and she didn't want to wake him up just for some half-assed "I'm sorry". He deserved better than that. 

She began to tiptoe back up the stairs, but before even the first step was taken she heard a voice, muffled by the newspaper, call out to her: 

"Mornin'." 

Edward stopped and looked back at Jet, still on the couch with the paper over his face. With nothing else to do, she pulled back a few wayward strands of uncombed hair covering her face. 

"Morning," she replied. 

Neither of them moved. 

_Wonderful,_ the voice in her head announced. _ He's awake, and he knows you're there. Guess it's now or never, you stupid fool._

"Jet, I--" 

"There's some food over here if you're hungry," he cut in. 

For a moment she was caught off guard by the interruption, thinking it meant he didn't want her apology and that it was useless anyway. But then the slowly-learned truth of the matter struck: this was Jet. That was practically his verbatim translation of "All is forgiven". 

Still with discretion in her stride, Ed walked in and sat down in the chair opposite the couch. On the table in the middle, two dishes of food were placed. One was a bowl, filled with freshly-carved chunks of a red, red watermelon, and the other was a plate of stringy-looking sliced vegetables, along with a pair of chopsticks. Eying the plate curiously, Edward took the chopsticks and picked up a piece of food from it. She brought it to her nose and backed it away. 

"What the heck is this?" she asked. 

"Special," Jet answered. "Bell peppers and beef." 

She examined the plate again. 

"There's no beef in this," she observed. 

"Don't get me started," he groaned. 

She hesitantly took a bite of bell pepper and almost gagged on it. She set down the chopsticks, and felt quite grateful that at least there was the optional watermelon to douse her hunger. She picked up the largest chunk in the bowl and tossed it into the air, catching it in her mouth. Mmmm...juicy. 

As they sat together in silence, Ed couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable this whole setting felt. No, it wasn't just the comfort. It was something else too, something she couldn't quite finger. Something about all this felt so...what was the word she was thinking of? 

Real. 

Yeah, that was it. It felt real. 

And why? Because perhaps the one part of Edward's experiences on _Bebop_ that stuck out the most, the one single aspect of her three adult crewmates that she admired most of all, was that regardless of their identities, their pasts, their problems, their tics, their quirks, and their idiosyncrasies, whatever they said was the real thing. They pulled no punches and they had no regrets. Spike Spiegel alone was proof of that, if only for the trouble he got into over whatever smartass remark escaped his lips. Faye Valentine fit the bill with her "I may be reckless but at least I'm having fun" way of living, particularly when it came to the spending of her money. Jet Black, while reluctant to express what was on his mind, always made certain his vocalized opinions were the unadulterated truth. And as for Edward...well, since when was she ever one to be deceitful of her true feelings? They were all very different people, but at least they were always honest with one another. 

That's when it hit her; all that time, Ed may have been the odd one out, but side by side with Spike, Faye, and Jet - a interminably free-spirited teenager among a motley crew of hard-boiled hard luck bounty hunters - she still fit right in. 

And even after the bumpy roads she'd been down past few days, that incredible fact made Edward feel really, really good. 

She leaned over the table and turned on the TV monitor. 

When she did, unfortunately, all her newfound good vibrations went straight down the john. 

"Whoa! Jet, come take a look at this!" 

********

"What do you mean the area's been quarantined?" 

"Just what I said," Jet answered. "ISSP placed a five-mile quarantine around the blast area. I don't know why they'd bother though; there's only one small town in the entire place, and all that happened was an explosion. They said on the news that the town was evacuated after the bombing. Why would they issue a biohazard warning afterward?" 

"Maybe there's something going on that wasn't on the news..." Edward suggested. 

She steered RedTail high over the barren Io plains while Jet worked the computer keyboard on the passenger's side, searching the web for information regarding the latest attack by the Estevez Brothers. Eventually they arrived at the advertised location, a massive industrial complex with pipelines stemming off in all directions. The buildings had been reduced to a field of ash and rubble. 

"Oh man..." said Ed. "They really hit the big one this time." 

"This here's Io's big enterprise center," Jet explained. "Half of it's an oil refinery, the other's a water treatment plant. This place was the only thing keeping Io even a little habitable." 

"That still doesn't explain the quarantine. You said there's only one town around here?" 

"Yeah. They call it Nomansland, population 1,000. It's about six miles south of here." 

"Well then, since nobody's supposed to be there," said Ed, "nobody will object to us taking a little peek." 

She turned the ship to the south and flew off toward the locomotive-shaped cluster of buildings on the horizon that represented the town of Nomansland. 

When they arrived there, Edward wished she was right when she said no one was there. As RedTail was set down in the middle of the dusty main street, both Ed and Jet could only sit and gawk at the surroundings. 

"Is there anything in the air?" asked Ed. 

Jet ran a quick scan of the atmosphere outside the ship. "Far as I can tell, nothing but the same ol' dry Io air. 'Bout as springtime fresh as it gets." 

"I'm not takin' any chances." 

She climbed out of her seat and searched the rear compartment, pulling out a pair of hefty-looking masks. She handed one to Jet, and they both strapped them on and made sure they were fastened tightly before opening the door. Still unsure of how safe it was, they decided, fuck it. They opened up the doors and walked out. 

Bodies. 

Everywhere. 

The town was littered with them. 

It was like every single member of the community had suddenly dropped dead. A man was laying face-first on the ground, the groceries he was holding splattered and spilled underneath and around him. Another man had seemingly died at the wheel, and his car swerved and crashed into the front of a small shop. The whole scene was sickening. Everywhere, there were the still-fresh corpses of men, women, and children, all the victims of an indiscriminate catastrophe. Even more horrifying were the faces on the bodies, with the eyes remaining open, and some locked in expressions of utter anxiety. 

"My god..." Edward whispered. "What the hell happened here?" 

"Looks like Estevez cooked up a lot more than we thought," said Jet. 

"I thought they said the town was evacuated." 

"ISSP must have paid the newscasters to tell them that, just so there wouldn't be any widespread panic. This must be the real reason they put up the quarantine." 

"No shit, Sherlock," she clicked. "Christ, I can't look at this! Let's get out of here!" 

She ran back to RedTail and jumped inside. Jet walked over to the nearest body, took out a syringe, and extracted an adequate sample of blood. As he walked back to the ship, he pulled out his pocket TV, turned to the bounty hunting channel, and listened to the repeated announcement. 

"Not that it matters," he said, "but the bounty on Double-E was just raised to 200 million woolongs."

********

"Just as I thought," said Jet, eyes fixated on the molecular scanner's readout. "When he blew up the plant, Estevez released some kind of nerve gas through the pipelines that led to Nomansland. Makes sense; right before he left the Syndicate, it was rumored that a barrel or two of some special biochemical weapon they were developing got stolen from one of their warehouses. Guess he had it in mind for a special purpose. Thankfully, Nomansland was the only affected area; if it weren't for the fact that the gas dissipates within ten minutes of being airborne, a lot more people would be dead. But there, the gas was released through a giant well in the middle of town, and it spread everywhere in time to kill everyone." 

He leaned back and rubbed his eyes to adjust to the _Bebop'_ s darkness again. 

"The only thing I can guess is that this was his last stop," he continued, "and he wanted to go out with even bigger bang than ever before. His brother must have been supplying him with the technology the whole time too, 'cause it takes a mighty good mind to cook up pocket-size explosives like the ones you told me about, so it only makes sense that he could make something small enough to fit in a backpack, and with enough power to level an entire city block." 

Edward sat on the couch staring into empty space. 

"I don't think Crey had anything to do with this," she said. 

"Ed, come on! He left you for dead on Aldrin Hill, remember?" 

"I know that!" she groaned. "I mean the whole nerve gas thing. I don't think he had anything to do with that." 

"What do you mean?" asked Jet. 

"Something isn't adding up," said Edward. "We were looking for one of the Syndicate's old bosses back on Mars...A fight was about to break out, and he got all into a fuss because he didn't want any of the people around us to get caught in the crossfire, so he went to the trouble of drawing them away so I could take down the bad guys...Then on Callisto, when we were looking for Double-E's girl, Sarah Meyer, he ran out into the middle of the street and tackled an old man who was about to get turned into senior citizen roadkill." 

Jet stared at her as if to say, "So what?" 

"It just doesn't come full circle," she said. "Why would Crey give a damn so much about a crowd full of strangers and one old man, and then go and poison an entire community like that?" 

"'Cause he's as fruity as his brother?" Jet offered. 

"That's what I want to believe," said Ed. "But it just doesn't work in my head! I spent long enough with him to know, Jet. The man is a liar and a terrorist, but he isn't crazy. Not like Double-E. And he has too much value for human life to do the kinds of things Erik Estevez does." 

"And yet he'll idly stand by and watch him do all the killing?" asked Jet pessimistically. 

"It's a vicious double standard, but it fits. I don't think Crey had a thing to do with the gas. The bomb, maybe, but not the gas." 

"So what do you think?" 

"I think..." Ed started. She didn't even know what to expect. "I think it's just like you said. There is a whole lot more to all this then anybody thought...and I have a feeling that includes Crey. Meaning the only one who really does know everything is Erik." 

"So you're saying that Erik is playing Crey for a sap somehow?" Jet theorized. "Seems kinda stupid, don't ya think? I mean, they can't keep the gas attack off the news forever, and once it's out in the open, Crey is gonna get a hold of it and find out what his brother did." 

"Jet, say you were one of a pair of insane genius saboteurs," Edward implied. "You're on a tight schedule, and you have a long list of places to visit. Now would you spend your time preparing for the next hit and making sure it went off without a hitch, or would you waste time relishing in your past victories?" 

Jet had to admit how reasonable that sounded. 

"For all I know, Estevez didn't even stick around to see if the gas bomb went off," she added. "He's not looking back, and if he can help it, he's not gonna let his little brother find out either way." 

"You really think Crey is oblivious to this whole thing?" 

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe he's just incredibly naive. I don't know." 

"Well, whatever the case," said Jet, as he threw the infected blood sample into the incinerator, "they can't hide from us for long. They're gonna get out in the open, and when they do..." 

For dramatic effect, he waited for the poof of the incinerator's flames as the burning objects were engulfed by the fire. 

"Bam." He turned to Edward and smiled. "It ain't over yet. We're gonna get 'em, kid...together." 

Edward did not share his enthusiasm for the coming chase. 

There was that word again...together. The last time she'd heard it, she trusted a man who tried to kill her. She knew Jet was not that man, nor even a similar kind of man. But still, something about hearing that word again made her shiver inside. 

Sorry, Jet. 

********

Later that evening... 

"Hey, Ed!" Jet called. "Food's ready! You eatin' or what?" 

No answer. Jet looked down the hall. 

"Edward! Food!" 

Leaving the food to stay heated on the stove, Jet left the kitchen and searched the ship for his comrade. He looked in the gravity ring corridor, the bedroom, the observation deck...and then in the living room, where he finally got an answer to his call, albeit not the one he anticipated. 

Sitting on the coffee table was Faye's ring. It was used as a weight for a white piece of paper underneath. Jet walked over and picked up the paper, reading the four words cleanly written across the surface: 

THIS ISN'T YOUR FIGHT. 

********

"What about gate entry records?" asked Ed. "Anything there?" 

"Nothing," said MPU. "No one has reported any sightings of either Erik Estevez or Crey Estevez." 

"Maybe he was using the other name..." Edward thought. "Any gate records of Crey Jenét DeSanto?" 

MPU ran the query into the web search. "Nothing. At least nothing besides his travels with you." 

"Dammit!" she barked, smacking the side of the dashboard. "We're getting nowhere here! They have to have been somewhere in the last four days! They couldn't have just slipped into a black hole and disappeared...unless they were hiding out in hyperspace, but then someone would have spotted them and called the cops or something! Shit!...I'm out of ideas here, MPU. What have you got?" 

"I have got rhythm, I have got music, I have--" 

"That is not funny," she snarled. 

"My apologies," the computer replied in monotone. 

"It's all right...I'm working under a lot of stress of here, and I know that's unhealthy. But they aren't going to wait for me to be in the mood to catch them. Seriously, MPU, do you have any thoughts?" 

"In all honesty, Ed, I believe you should have let your friend Jet assist you in this matter." 

"That's out of the question," Edward answered. "This doesn't concern him, and it was stupid of me to involve him at all." 

"If you had not, you would never have found out where to search for Erik Estevez, and you also would have died in the Aldrin Hill explosion. It would seem to me that he has both resources and talents that neither of us possess." 

"Did I ask you?" she snapped. "Damn, if we only had some clue to where they've been!" 

She lay her head down against the dash and beat her hands against her scalp as she desperately probed her mind for any and all inspiration. She had been on her own for a whole day now, and she had nothing. Ed would never admit it, but she was starting to believe MPU was right; she needed Jet. 

_No...no, you have to do this on your own,_ her mind scolded. _No more relying on others. You're an adult now...act it already!_

Her problem was she couldn't concentrate. All the images presented to her over the last week, both pleasant and unsavory, refused to cease their haunting of her, everything from the final glimpse of the floor of the Aldrin Hill plant before passing out, to the reliving of Faye's devastating death, to Jet's admittance of his feelings for Faye, and most recently that hideous smile on the face of Crey Estevez when he called her to gloat the day after she regained consciousness. Oh, that sick smirk...that was an image she'd never get out of her head. 

Wait... 

She picked up her head and stared out into space, her entire expression brightening like a Ganymede sunrise. She fished around the cockpit for her backpack, pulling her laptop computer from it. She then grabbed some random plugs and inserted some into both the computer and the dashboard. 

"MPU, check the recent memory files," she ordered. "There was a real-time communique sent to me about a day and a half ago. By any chance...was the recorder function running?" 

The computer scanned the laptop's hard drive for a few seconds. 

"Yes." 

"Play back the message!" she cried. 

"Whatever for?" asked MPU. "I have seen what is on it. It is certainly not of any entertainment value." 

"Just do it!" 

Without another objection, MPU activated the application, and a transparent screen was holographically projected in front of Edward. She watched the message from the beginning to end, paying attention not to Crey's snide remarks, but instead to the background against which he appeared. When it ended, she started it up again, then again, then again. She looked for clues in the background, each time finding nothing particularly catching. It was a hotel room, that she knew, but it looked like a pretty ordinary room that could have been in any hotel or motel or inn from Venus to Titan. But then... 

"Wait, pause it!" she popped. "Zoom in...here." 

She pointed to the upper-left corner of the window, and in response MPU centered on that area and enlarged it. The new picture was at first blurry and pixilated, but MPU quickly cleaned it up, sharpening lines and smoothing out finer details. Edward leaned in close to the screen, eying something on the very edge of the image. 

Just next to Crey's head, there was what looked like the frame of a window, outside of which was a desert-esque landscape, complete with a few mesas deep in the background. However, there was also what appeared to be a blizzard of snow falling upon the desert, which of course made no sense whatsoever...at least to the uneducated. Which meant it made perfect sense to Edward. 

"I know that motel..." she said encouragingly. "I know where this communique was sent from!" 

She shut off the screen and dived back into the pilot's seat, flipping switches, pushing buttons, and grasping the steering controls. 

"Change of direction, MPU," Edward declared. "Find me the nearest hyperspace gate. We're heading back to Io." 

"And what will we be doing there, Ed?" 

She took a deep breath before she fired up the thrusters. 

"Praying that my hunch is right."

********

Gun in hand, Edward kicked down the door. 

She extended her firearm as she entered, ready to shoot at anything that was stupid enough to get in her way. All she found inside the room upon entering was a young couple, a man and a woman who couldn't possibly have been older than seventeen years each, half-naked on the couch, both distracted from their sinful activities to goggle in shock at the angry, armed woman that just burst in. 

Before either of them could say anything, Ed stepped forward, grabbed the young man by the hair, pulled him up, and inserted the business end of her weapon into his mouth. 

"Did the last people to use this room leave anything here?" she demanded. 

The young man replied with an incomprehensible series of vocal outbursts that sounded vaguely like the frightened cry of, "The bedroom! They left something in the bedroom!" 

Edward released the man and stormed off down the hall, checking all four doors located down there. Behind door number one, the bathroom. Behind door number two, a linen closet. And behind doors three and four, a pair of identical bedrooms. 

In both bedrooms, she inspected the window frames and found what confirmed her hunch; on each frame, there was a paper-thin video screen installed, which one could easily program to display any scenery alternate to the arid Io desert. At the moment, nothing was programmed but the screen was still on, leaving only a tempest of electrical static...thus creating the illusion of a snowstorm over the wasteland, just like Edward had seen in the recording of Crey's message. 

Unfortunately, after quickly checking both rooms, she saw nothing else to corroborate that either Estevez had been in this motel. She was about to exit the second bedroom and leave the hotel room altogether, when her vision snagged something irregular sitting on the bed; something that wasn't in the other room, or any other one she'd surveyed since arriving. She walked in and examined the object in question - a single white manila folder, stuffed with papers and tied together with a rubber band. 

She removed the band and opened up the folder, and she instantly brightened again after only seeing the first page. She turned to next one, and the next one, and the next one, until she went through the entire contents of the folder, her good mood regenerating with every page she skimmed. 

"Everything..." she said to herself. "My god, this explains everything!" 

She put the rubber band back on the folder to avoid losing anything, then she raced out of the motel room, stopping briefly to address the still-shocked half-naked couple on the sofa. 

"Sorry for the trouble, kids," she stated. "I'd tell you to get a room, but...y'know." 

********

The intercity highways on Mars were barren pretty much all the time, even when it was likely to be the busiest. Citizens of the Martian colonies stayed put most of the time, and when they did hop from one city to another, airborne travel was the preferred mode. The foremost danger of using the roads between cities was that except for areas up to a few miles outside a city, there was no terraforming and therefore no oxygen. So in the event of an accident - say, a broken windshield - a brave enough driver would fall victim to an unpleasant passing via atmospheric asphyxiation. 

Today, there was one such brave motorist, steadily rolling along the interstate toward Tharsis, the skyline of which peeked out from behind the rim of the massive approaching crater. The vehicle of choice was a bulky armored truck that nearly took up part of the adjacent driving lane, and it appeared to be of some kind of military issue, designed more for defense and storage of weapons than for speed. 

Inside, the infamous Erik "Double-E" Estevez sat behind the wheel, while his lesser-known brother Crey Costanza "Double-C" Estevez sat beside him, continuously fiddling with one of his capsule-sized explosives. 

"Where the hell we goin' anyway?" asked Crey. "I thought the treatment plant was the last one, but before we left, you said we had to stock up for 'the next one'. What the hell is 'the next one'?" 

"Relax, bro, it's a surprise," Erik answered. 

"I ain't a big fan of your surprises, E," he said. "Every time I've ever heard you say 'It's a surprise', whatever you've been planning turns into an atomic clusterfuck and I end up with nothing but a huge friggin' headache." 

"Believe me, man," Erik assured him, "I've got everything locked, stocked, and clusterfuck-free this time, that I guarantee." 

Crey stared suspiciously at his brother, who smirked evilly as he expressed his "guarantee", and he seemed much more absorbed in the vision of his secret agenda than in watching the road, which - even though they were well within the oxygenated territory outside Tharsis - was still of particular importance. 

"I don't believe this..." said Crey, coming to an eventual discovery. "You're going to do it. I mean, you're _really_ gonna do it! You talked about it for years, but now you're actually gonna go through with it!?" 

"I've got the tools, the talent, and the time," he replied. "It'll be the final stroke in my masterpiece. So I say, why not?" 

Crey let the idea sink in a little, much to his incredulity. "You do realize what it is you're doing, right?" 

"Absolutely," said Erik. 

"Then you'll understand if I say I want no part in it?" 

"Far as I'm concerned, you never heard me breathe a word of it." 

Crey released a sigh of relief while he leaned back in his seat and resumed tinkering with the capsule. 

That's just when he heard a familiar beep. You know, that "You've got mail!" beep. 

He looked into the pile of assorted junk on the floor of the back of the truck, where a wide variety of computer circuitry, mechanical parts, and of course explosives were stashed without much care or organization. Crey's backpack was sitting among it, so he snatched it, brought it in front of him, and removed his laptop. He opened it up and looked at the desktop, which was open to his messenger program. A real-time communique was waiting for his reply. The sender was unknown. 

Crey eyed the link curiously, then reluctantly double-clicked it. 

A net window popped up, and the first thing Crey saw was a rather strange smiley icon; a yellow circle inhabited by a quite comical face with a pair of blush marks under the eyes. The face looked at Crey, looked left, looked right, looked back at Crey, blinked twice, then squeezed its eyes shut and grinned so wide that the entire lower half of its head was replaced by a set of white teeth. 

Once Crey saw the grin, he instantly knew who was sending the message. The smiley dissolved, and in its place was Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV, seated in the cockpit of her ship. 

"Morning, pendejo," she hailed. 

"Hello, Ed," Crey glowingly answered. "You lookin' for a good time, or is this just a social call?" 

"Little bit of both, actually," said Edward. "Is your piece-of-shit brother there?" 

"Hold on one second." He turned to Erik and handed the laptop to him. "Phone for you." 

Erik smiled maliciously, then he pushed a button on the dashboard and put the truck into cruise control. The steering wheel locked, and the truck's velocity remained just at the designated speed limit. He took the computer and looked into the screen, where he and Edward stared each other down. 

"What's up, Baby Bird?" he asked. 

"This is just your advance notice, Estevez," she said coolly. "Your ass is grass." 

He chuckled. "Not gonna happen, sweet cheeks. We both know I'm that much better at this game than you." 

"Oh I promise you, this is no game, Erik. I'm out to destroy you. I'm out to annihilate you. I'm out to deconstruct you from every available angle until you're nothing but a stagnant shell of who you are. And if there's anything left of you when I'm done, I'm gonna hang you up like Jesus on the crucifix for the whole universe to see." 

"Those are some mighty strong words you're spewin', honey," Erik taunted. "But that's all they are." 

"In the past, underestimating me has proven hazardous, bub." 

"Hazardous, yes," he said. "Fatal, no." 

"There's a first time for everything," said she. 

"Lot easier said than done. You know how hard it is to kill a man if you aren't as used to it as I am?" 

"Enlighten me," said Ed. 

"Only a few people know this," he disclosed, "...and I feel pretty comfortable telling you this, so for that I thank you....but that first time I did it, I almost didn't go through with it. And once I finished, it scared the hell out of me. But then when I got the chance to do it again, it wasn't so hard. Nowadays, killing comes so easily, it's like death is my first language." 

"How interesting." 

"Now I know how much you're lookin' forward to our big fight to the death," said Erik, "but I don't think you understand just how bad the situation is here, Baby Bird. You know how many people I've killed the last few years? Plenty more than they have listed in my file, that I'll tell ya for nothin'. I don't just kill people, I make 'em disappear. I erase them. Sometimes all it takes is someone to look at me wrong, then no one hears from him ever again. And that's a lot more than I can say for you, honey." 

"And just how well do you think you know me?" asked Edward. 

"I did look into your pasts before I offed your girlfriend," he answered. "I know your MO. Oh yeah, you two took down plenty of bad boys...but you never killed no one. And I know why, even if you don't. You don't kill...because you can't. As much as you hate me, babe, as much nothing sounds better than ending it for me, I know deep down inside, you couldn't even if ya wanted to! I've seen it a hundred times, and it never ends pretty, sweetheart! People like you...little lost girls like you...you just don't have it in ya to kill a guy. I can see how it'll end for you too. Maybe you'll get me right where you want me, and you've got that one shot to take me out. But then, you see that look in my eyes, and you've just gotta stop and think to yourself...you stop and you think, 'Is this really what I want? Is killing him really gonna make the pain go away?' And then you find out I'm right...You can't do it...because ya know full well the pain ain't gonna go away, and even worse, if you do kill me, that makes you no better. And while you're busy rollin' down Philosophy Drive, I'm there to make the pain last as long as possible before you die." 

Ed didn't reply. She just kept glaring, emotionless and unimpressed by Double-E's sinister rhetoric. 

Suddenly, she shot forward and nearly pressed her face against the screen, and her facial flesh scrunched into a wrinkled mass of rage. 

"Spare me the cruel angel's thesis crap!" she boomed. 

Erik almost jumped out of his seat. 

"Just how stupid do you think I am, Estevez!?" she yelled. "Do you really think that after all my searching, all the effort I've put forth, all the money I've spent, that when I finally get the chance to destroy you that I won't do it!? You took my sister from me! You ruined my life, you filthy animal! And for all the pain you caused me, I swear to God, before you die, you'll know just how much I hate you! Maybe you are right, Estevez...maybe once it's all said and done, the pain still won't got away. I'll have plenty of time to think it over while I'm _dancing on your grave!!"_

Before she could utter another word, Erik snapped out his hand and hit the power button, shutting down the computer and thus severing the connection. He blinked, then stared emptily out at the road in front of him. 

"Damn!" he exclaimed. "That bitch is crazy!" 

From the radio: 

"I heard that." 

Both Estevez Brothers immediately turned to the truck's dashboard. The radio was on, but neither of them had left it so, and it was not set to a music station or any known or at least normally used communication frequency. 

"I thought you cut her off," said Crey. 

"He did," Edward's voice answered. "It's just that there are a few things I failed to mention. I found your motel room back on Io, along with a still-fresh pair of tire tracks from a JRGI military class armored truck, which, as reported by the Io hyperspace gate entry, was transported from there to Mars. And it just so happens the ISSP reported one JRGI armored truck stolen about two years ago, registration number REY-M-619.." 

Erik looked at the small, stenciled lettering on the inside of the windshield. It had been scratched off long ago, but there was just enough of it left to ratify that this was indeed the same truck. 

"Oh, and one other thing, boys," Ed added. "I've actually been in short-range radio contact for the last five minutes. And I'll be in weapons range in about five seconds." 

"HUH!?!" 

Crey rolled down his window, stuck his head out, and looked into the sky behind the truck. At a distance, but closing fast, was RedTail. 

Edward began counting down: "4..." 

"Shit!" cried Crey, pulling himself back inside. "Speed this thing up!" 

"3..." 

Erik took the vehicle out of cruise control, grabbed the steering wheel again, then slammed his foot down against the gas pedal. The truck jerked forward as it increased speed. "What the hell kind of stuff has she got on that thing?" 

"2..." 

"A lot more than we've got in here!" Crey replied. 

"Why didn't you tell me that before!?" Erik demanded. 

"1..." 

"I didn't think she'd find us like this!" he defended. "You think that I'd have--" 

"...0." 

They froze and booth looked at the radio. There was a brief pause, then Edward spoke again: 

"Goodbye, Norma Jean." 

The line was disconnected, and the radio shut itself off. 

All either of them could do was gape at the blank radio display, then at each other as if both were expecting the other to offer some explanation or suggestion of action. 

An eerie hum filtered into the truck from outside. The road and landscape in front of them turned a paler shade, then all of a sudden a pair of thick, bright, pulsating streams of electric blue light stretched down from the sky, plunging into the ground and digging a trench headed straight for the truck! Bellowing obscenity, Erik twisted the steering column and almost turned the truck onto its side to swerve around the destructive beams, successfully dodging them just before they would have shred the vehicle into thirds. 

Up in Redtail's cockpit, Edward switched off the plasma rifles and focused on catching up with the truck. Firing her big weapons slowed the ship down, so she had to regain her close-quarters advantage before attacking again. 

"That was a pretty long blast," she said. "About how long till the cannons recharge, MPU?" 

"Approximately 3.25 minutes," MPU replied. 

"Let me know the second they're ready," she ordered, as she opened a thumb-sized panel on each control handle and depressed the buttons underneath. 

With a deafening rattle of ignited gunpowder, she ejected a downpour of bullets from RedTail's twin MX-9K miniguns. The shots rained down upon the still-swerving truck, each one ricocheting off the reinforced steel with a mighty PING! They didn't leave even a single dent. 

"I am afraid the guns alone will be of little use," MPU advised. "The armor is far too strong." 

"I know they aren't doing any damage," she said. "Those are just to keep 'em on their toes. THESE are for doing damage!" 

She uncovered another pair of buttons and pushed them. Behind the miniguns, a pair of oversized rocket launchers dropped into position, and from inside the lowermost chamber, the head of a heat-seeking missile extended. Edward pushed the buttons again, and both warheads launched! 

They flew downward and eventually glided level with the ground, closing in on the truck's rear bumper. The truck tried to avoid them, but the missiles only followed its path. 

Ed could almost smell the melting metal already. 

Suddenly, on either side of the struck, an explosion went off, putting a pair of pool table-sized hole in the earth. The heat diverted the missiles from their intended target, and instead of colliding with the backside of the truck, they split off in two different directions and detonated inside the already burning craters. 

At first confused, Edward quickly realized what had happened: Crey. More accurately, Crey and his tiny bombs. 

As the truck sped along, a hatch on the roof was opened up from inside and, speak of the devil, Crey popped out. He was armed with what appeared to be some kind of sniper rifle, except the bullet chamber was much too large to house bullets of an assassination nature. He shielded his eyes from his flailing hair to get a look at Edward's general position, then reached into his pocket and pulled out some more of the red-striped capsules, loading them one by one into the gun's chamber. 

"Innovative," Ed said to herself, watching him on RedTail's telescopic camera. "Bring it on, loverboy." 

He advanced to the first projectile, took aim, and pulled the trigger. 

Edward couldn't see the capsule coming at her, so she had to rely on her targeting systems to see where it was headed. Unfortunately, the object was too small to track from the distance at which it was being fired, so she also knew this was going to be a close shave. 

She waited for just the right moment. An alarm suddenly went off and the target crosshairs centered on the oncoming explosive. She pulled on the control handles and veered the craft to her left, just as the capsule detonated. Edward felt an immense jolt from the blast and lost her balance for a moment, then steadied the ship and continued closing in. 

"Son of a--" she blurted. "Those red ones sure have one hell of a kick!" 

The alarm sounded again, and Edward barely had a second to turn RedTail in the other direction before a second capsule exploded on her left side. She barrel-rolled into regaining a steady flight, then shoved her thumbs into the minigun triggers. Another bullet barrage was sent down, and Crey was forced to close the hatch and duck inside the vehicle. When the gunfire stopped, the hatch opened again and Crey continued firing the red capsules at her. Edward rolled back and forth in the sky while each explosion went off on her left or right. One came a little too close for comfort, and RedTail was almost knocked down by the explosion's force. It came so close in fact that a hairline fracture was made in the cockpit's spherical shield. 

He pulled the trigger again, only to find out he had run empty. He was left with seemingly no defense as Edward fired the rockets again, sending two more missiles in the truck's direction. He found defense nonetheless when he pulled out a pair of yellow-striped capsules and tossed them into the air, setting them off right after releasing them. The capsules turned red hot in mid-air, and the missiles were again drawn away from the truck. 

Crey covered his eyes from the dazzling explosion, then looked in time to see RedTail's guns going off again. He stooped down inside the hatch again, but not before one stray bullet caught him in the left arm. He yelled in pain as he almost fell from the ladder, but he looped his remaining arm around the top rung, his right hand gripping his bleeding shoulder. 

"Time, MPU!" Edward bid. 

"4.75 seconds," the computer said. 

"You're mine now, you bastard!" she screamed. 

She watched the crosshairs come together directly on the truck, and she grinned insanely when the recharge countdown reached its end and the words "PLASMA RIFLES ONLINE" appeared on the screen. 

Crey looked up at the pursuer, and watched in horror as the electric blue light appeared inside the barrels of the cannons mounted on the cockpit. He released the ladder rung and allowed himself to plummet to the floor, then jumped at the driver's seat and pulled the steering wheel from Erik's hands, detouring the truck to the right just as another pair of plasma streams burrowed into the ground. The truck tipped over and balanced on its two right wheels for about fifty feet, then settled back on all fours after Crey was certain they'd safely evaded the attack. 

"Damn!" Edward vexed, slapping the screen. "How much more time till recharge?" 

"Another 5.75 minutes," said MPU. 

"No problem, I got plenty more--" 

The alarm went off. Ed looked at the targeting screen and saw yet another capsule coming at her. She steered to her left as another explosion erupted next to her. But just as she did, another pop went off, and a ferocious gunshot-like blast of sound zipped through the air. Edward hollered in pain and covered her ears, and the shield surrounding the cockpit cracked and shattered. She ignored the intense ringing in her eardrums and the cold wind blowing past her body and focused on regaining control of RedTail. She surmised that Crey must have expected her to veer away from the red capsule, so he shot another one at her at the same time - a "short-range sonic boom", he called him. 

She fired the guns again, following with another duet of missiles. In the ship's wobbly state, the bullets never even came close, and Crey once again deflected the missiles with a pair of heaters. 

The aftereffects of the sonic boom were still so strong that she didn't hear the alarm go off again. She did see the object targeting screen a moment later, so she tried to move out of the incoming capsule's path, but it made no difference. The capsule went off right in front of her, and a brilliant flash of light discharged from it. 

Ed screeched again. Both her ears and eyes were in pain now, rendering her almost unable to use either. 

"MPU, I can't fly this thing!" she cried. "Take control! And dodge whatever he throws at us!" 

The control handles locked in place, and the autopilot light turned on. 

Edward opened her eyes and attempted to work back her vision. Everything around her was painted a bright, pale yellow, and she could only make out a few specific shapes here and there. The ship's vibrating from warding off another explosion made the effort no easier. 

She slipped the net goggles over her eyes, felt around the dashboard for the right plug, then inserted the goggles' electric cable into it. The goggles turned on, and in Edward's view she was brought to the entrance to the Solar System Web, her home away from home. Things in the real world were quite hazy, but everything here was coming in clear as a bell. 

"You are goin' nowhere!" she spat. 

She began waving her arms out in front of her, relinquishing all her stiff, hardened motions and swishing them up and down as if she were swimming through an intangible ocean, while she wiggled her fingers like each individual digit had a mind of its own. In her net goggles, she "swam" through the entrance to the web and into a raging flood of net windows, including corporate home pages, FTP archives, personal websites, and of course armies of those aggravating pop-up ads. 

Within seconds Edward reached the main server of Mars' satellite positioning system. She selected a series of links, activated the search engine, and finally accessed the surveillance map of the west-bound road outside of Tharsis. Validating this was her desired location, the map labeled the presence of two moving chariots: a JRGI armored truck, and an unregistered RedTail aerial cruiser. 

Down below, Crey couldn't quite grasp the situation. Not only was Edward's ship dodging everything he threw at it, but it seemed she was no longer fighting back. From the smoothness of its movements, he guessed the ship was on autopilot, but what Ed was doing in the meantime, he couldn't tell. 

All of a sudden, the truck's brakes were slammed on, resulting in an uncomfortable jump that almost made Crey lose his already teetering grip on the hatch ladder. A few seconds later, it happened again, followed by a wide left and right twitching. 

Crey jumped back inside and ran to the driver's seat, where it seemed Erik was intentionally causing the disturbances. 

"What the hell are you doing!?" he yelled. 

"Nothing!" said Erik. "This truck is goin' whacko, man!" 

The brakes activated once again, but then the truck jumped forward in a burst of momentary speed, forcing Crey to fall to the floor and land right on his injured shoulder. As he got up wincing, he looked forward and saw the oddest thing on the radio's faceplate; rising up like balloons, a mass of those cutesey Ed smilies flooded the digital display. 

"It's Edward!" he tattled. "She's trying to hack into the onboard computer!" 

Disregarding the pain altogether, he bounded back into the passenger's seat and grabbed his laptop, upon which he instantaneously began flailing his fingers. 

Ed's plan was working perfectly. Using the satellite system, she zeroed in on the truck and drew up a schematic of the auto. As she swam though the programming code and worked her magic, buzzing swarms of her patented smilies flew over the schematics, grouping together around the engine and the dashboard. If Edward couldn't blow it off the road, she'd at least bring it a stop. She could tell she was gaining the upper hand when a few random messages exhibited on the side of the screen reported the effects of her hostile vehicular takeover. 

"A few more seconds and that thing is mine!" she lauded. 

Just then, another flock of icons broke onto the screen, emanating from the passenger's seat, mingling with the ones already present. They weren't Edward's, however, but rather those she recognized as signaling the arrival of the hacker known as The Unknown Bounty. The new icons grouped together and began removing Ed's smilies from the truck's system. Inconceivable as it was, Crey was actually fighting back! 

"You think you can take me on!?" she said with disbelief. "I'm gonna hack you into a corner!" 

She started working faster. More of her icons appeared, some of which split into multiple little icons and swarmed the truck even more. 

"Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet!" Crey disputed. 

He too typed more rapidly, sending more of his programming into the mix. On his screen and Edward's, more bandaged icons appeared, but at least twice the size of the ones seen before. 

The two of them battled for what seemed like ages; every time one would appear to construct an advantage for his or her side, the other would instantly do something to counteract the venture. The hack-off continued tirelessly, with both contender's hands and arms ultimately becoming little more than flesh-colored blurs. Crey was almost punching holes through his keyboard, and Edward saw so much code flash past her that for a moment she could have sworn she in hyperspace. All the while, the truck kept experiencing malfunctions, and RedTail slowly but surely gained on it. 

The truck schematics were no longer in the equation. For both hackers, it had evolved into a war of code versus code. The contents of screen included both Ed and Crey's icons, unceasingly struggling for dominance of the digital world. It was like a steroid-powered game of Space Invaders. 

Finally, the computers themselves could take no more. Crey's laptop shorted out and exploded, and Edward's goggles fizzled and the lenses cracked. 

In her surprise, she accidentally hit her arms against Redtail's control handles, inadvertently deactivating the autopilot and causing the ship to lose an immense amount of speed. At the same time, the truck stopped its bizarre activity and kept zooming forward. 

Ed tossed the broken goggles away and tested her vision. There was still a bit of fog, but otherwise she could see things as well as before. She realized how far behind she'd fallen and accelerated the ship. 

"Are the plasma rifles recharged yet?" she asked. 

"Yes," said MPU. "However, we are not close enough to gain a reliable lock on the target." 

Releasing a frenzy-enriched scream, Edward pushed RedTail as far as it would go. The warning signs were beginning to go off, indicating that the engine wouldn't hold out much longer. She ignored them. 

"You won't get away..." she hissed. "...Not this time...not this time... 

"Ed, the ship will not take much more of this!" MPU warned. 

"Shut up!" Ed snapped. "I won't let him go! Not again!" 

She knew how much danger she was putting herself in. If the engine got hot enough, Crey wouldn't have to blow her out of the sky, because she'd do it herself. 

"There is another ship approaching," MPU announced. 

"What?" 

Without warning, a missile came spiraling in out of the nowhere, striking the ground right next to the truck. The explosion forced the truck off the road, and in its attempt to stay on all four wheels, it too lost speed, allowing Ed to finally gain some significant ground. 

Edward looked into the sky from where the missile came. Just as MPU said, another ship was coming into the fray. It was an old, bulky thing, its hull colored gray and tan. The front was shaped in the fashion of a battering ram, extended forward like a giant flying fist. At the rear were the propulsion units, between which a tremendous harpoon and launcher were installed. 

Hammerhead. 

A deep, gruff voice came in on RedTail's radio: 

"He ain't gettin' away this time, kid! That's a Black Dog promise!" 

"Jet!?" Edward cried. "How did you--" 

She noticed something flashing underneath her dashboard. She reached down and plucked it out, and found in her hand a small homing device. 

"What the hell are you doing here!?" she demanded. "I told you this wasn't your fight!" 

"Ed, I'm gonna tell you something..." he answered. "Something I'll never say again in a million years!....I loved her! Every bit as much as you did! So you bet your ass this is my fight!" 

To that point, Edward could make no argument. 

"Listen, I'll cause a distraction," Jet proclaimed. "While I keep 'em busy, you see about taking out one of their rear wheels, awright? I'll take it from there." 

"Gotcha!" she agreed. 

With that, Jet flew Hammerhead down low and began circling around the truck, firing machine guns and missiles that purposely missed. From inside, Crey began tossing capsules again, but Jet was too quick for him, even at that relatively close compass. And they were too busy with him to notice anything Edward was doing. 

"Are we in range, MPU?" she asked. 

"Yes," MPU replied. "I have a lock on their rear left wheel." 

Without another word, she pulled the trigger. 

The stream ripped through the air and plunged into the ground just a few inches aft of the targeted wheel. Edward pulled up on the control handles and leveled the angle at which the plasma fired, and in the movement she finally managed to hit the truck. The plasma stream destroyed the wheel and tore a hole in the vehicle's backside. The truck jumped from the impact of the beam, then it kept wobbling forth on only three wheels. 

Jet sped up Hammerhead and took the lead. He positioned his craft directly in front of the truck, then in mid-flight turned it 180 degrees and put the engine in full reverse so that he was flying backwards. 

The harpoon launcher lifted up and pointed at the front bumper. Jet aimed carefully, then projected the spearhead. It stabbed itself into the truck head on, forcing it to start shaking even more. Jet veered the ship off the side and stopped the engines, allowing the truck to keep speeding on ahead, only now it had a harpoon and rope sticking out of the engine. When the rope reached its maximum length, Jet again fired the reverse engine to pull in the opposite direction the truck was going. The truck was yanked to a stop, and it was whipped around in a circle like an oversized tether ball! 

When it made the full rotation, Jet hit the release button and detached the harpoon's rope from Hammerhead's launcher. The truck went rolling over and over, bouncing up and down and up and down, each hard impact with the ground putting a nasty dent in the armor. The windows smashed, the hole in the back had grown larger, and all four wheels were broken off. 

At last the pummeled truck came to a complete stop, silently lying on its bottom in the middle of the road. 

Edward caught up with Jet, and together they landed nearby the wreck. They dismounted from their respective ships and walked toward it, each with a gun drawn just in case it was necessary. 

As they came closer, part of the truck mechanically split upon from the side, and something shot out and whizzed past Ed and Jet, zooming on toward the city. As it made its escape, they realized it was Double-E, making his getaway on a mini motorcycle housed inside the truck. 

"Crap!" Ed shouted, as she began heading back to RedTail. 

Jet stopped her. "We'll never catch him at this rate," he said. "You know full well once he reaches that city, he's the invisible man. Besides...we got someone who knows where he's goin'." 

They turned back to the truck, where the passenger's side door suddenly snapped open and fell off. A walloped and weary Crey stumbled out, aimlessly walking around like the ground underneath him was shaking - which, at least in his perception, it probably was. 

"Jet..." said Edward. "Give our friend here the Luca Brasi." 

The Black Dog grinned and cracked his knuckles, then roared like an Angus bull and ran full steam ahead. 

Crey slowly turned around and looked just in time to see a giant metal arm ram into him.

********

"Can we see him yet?" 

"Yeah, he woke up a little while ago. Right this way." 

The officer led Edward and Jet through the hall and into the holding room. Sitting inside a cell fenced off by steel bars, sitting quietly on the bench, bandages wrapped over his bullet-grazed shoulder, was Crey. He looked up and scowled at his captors. 

"I'll be at the front desk if you need anything," the officer said as he departed. 

The bounty hunters and the prisoner were left alone. Crey and Ed locked eyes, and things were still between the three of them for an uneasy while. 

"How's your head, Crey?" asked Edward. 

"Go to hell," he said. 

"Is that how your mama taught you to speak to a lady?" Jet inquired. 

"You don't know nothin' about my mama, old man!" he lashed. "And Ed is no lady." 

"I'm so hurt," Ed said sarcastically. "Where's he going next, Crey?" 

Crey burst into laughter. "That's cute! You really think I'm gonna tell you! That's real cute." 

"Out of the goodness of my heart, I haven't yet told the cops that you're Double-E's brother," Edward argued. "Had I done that, you'd already be facing a good 30-to-life for aiding in mass murder and industrial sabotage. Now maybe, just maybe if you have any self-regard at all, you'll help save your own ass by helping me find Erik." 

"Read my lips: No god damn way." 

Ed smiled. "You know, you really do surprise me, Crey...after all this time, you're still swearing allegiance to a brother who's been lying to you from the very beginning." 

"What are you talking about?" he asked. 

He hadn't noticed until then that Edward was holding one hand behind her hand. She presented it, and with it a white manila folder full of paper of assorted colors and sizes. 

"You know those stories where it looks like the shit's hit the fan, but then suddenly some big 'deus ex machina' shows up and solves everybody's problems?" she asked. "I used to hate those...until one fell right into my lap." 

She walked to the cell door and held up the folder in front of Crey. 

"You know what this is? Since everything you've told me contradicts what's in here, I'm going to assume you don't. This is your mother's police file. The _real_ one. I found it in your motel room in Io. I'm betting your sick freak of a brother was keeping it as a trophy of some sort, and he carelessly left it behind when the both of you left." 

Crey could not hide his shock. 

Edward opened up the file and flipped to a desired page. "Everything about her is in here," she said. "Her family history, her rap sheet...and even the details about the afternoon of one April 19th, 2072. It's quite boring, actually, except for when it proves what I for one knew all along...that Faye Valentine didn't kill her. At least not in cold blood." 

"Wha--" 

"Ten eyewitnesses all said the same thing," Ed elaborated. "Faye was minding her own business that day. Jessica Estevez was drunk off her ass, she had a gun, and she shot first. Faye tried to get the gun away, and in the scuffle, it accidentally went off with it pointing at Jessica." 

To cast away all doubt, she removed the page from the folder and slipped it through the cage. Crey snatched it from her hand and scanned over it, the fright on his face increasing with every word he read. He grabbed his head and started pulling on his hair, while his teeth clenched and his eyes bulged. He grimaced at Ed again before throwing the paper back at her. 

"This doesn't change anything!" he said. "She still killed my mother!" 

"Oh, it gets better," Ed said unflinchingly. "Jessica Jade Estevez didn't die that day." 

Crey was hushed with astonishment. 

"Apparently, her financial situation wasn't quite what it could have been, so she figured what happened would make for the perfect excuse to abandon it all." She paused to allow Crey to absorb the information. "Did you hear me, Crey?...I said 'abandon'. And I'm not saying that to be vengeful, I'm saying that's what she did. She faked her death and she ran away from all her problems...including you." 

Crey fell forward and clutched the steel bars as he slowly fell to his knees. 

"And I'm sorry, but it get even worse than that," she said. "She fled to Venus, where about seven months after she supposedly died, she conveniently happened to become a witness to a mob murder. She was put in witness protection, given a new face, new name, new everything. Does the name 'Julie James' mean anything to you?" 

He looked up at her. "No." 

"Well, it certainly does to your brother," Edward added. "In 2076, she was one of his victims." 

Absolute terror struck Crey's entire being. 

"I'm sorry, Crey," she said, handing the entire folder to him. 

He grabbed the papers and sifted past them all to the last few pages. He froze at what he saw. He dropped the rest of the files, leaving only one text-filled page and two 8x10 photos. 

The remaining page described the crime scene, dated September 9, 2076. The first of the two photos was of the woman named "Julie James", but Crey knew that wasn't the real name. He took one look at that face - late 40s to early 50s - and he recognized it instantly. She was little older, the haircut was different and dyed brown over the natural blonde...but there was no mistaking it. This picture was of Jessica Jade Estevez. 

The second picture proved no less disturbing. The full page described the crime scene, and this picture showed it in full horrific color. One body, female, late 40s to early 50s, with dyed brown hair, brutally murdered. The position of the body and the condition of the clothes, along with the multitude of wounds, welts, and bruises, attested perfectly to what was written in the report. Julie James was found dead in an alley, having been beaten, raped, stabbed, and shot. 

"However forgiving you may be for what your mother did..." said Edward. "...Erik wasn't." 

Crey kneeled down on the floor, his breathing became quick and irregular, and his face began to moisten from the coming tears. He tightened his grip around the pictures in his hands, crumpling them in his fingers. 

He started growling, and he picked up the rest of the file that spilled onto the floor. Then, with an ear-splitting howl, he rose and threw the entire contents of the file across the room, the stack exploding and showering the cell with papers and photos. He went from one end of the cell to the other, screaming in wrath and throwing his fists and feet against the walls. He stood in front of one and punched at it stubbornly until his fists began to bleed. 

Uneager to watch this descent into madness, Edward turned and walked away, followed close behind by Jet. They could hear Crey's wails all the way out the door. 

********

"All things considered, I really do feel sorry for him," said Edward as she and Jet walked down the front steps of the Tharsis police station. "I don't know, maybe I'm the one being naive this time." 

"No, you're not," said Jet. "It's the saddest thing when somebody does this and they're convinced its for justice. I've seen plenty cases just like it. This one's sure a doosey though." 

"And to think...all the time, it was Double-E who killed their mother," she mulled. "What kind of child does it take to do something like that?" 

"I can't help but wonder if he even knew it was his mother," Jet replied. 

"True," Ed concurred. "He's killed so many other people, I'll bet he couldn't even tell the difference. But it's a pretty scary thing any which way you look at it." 

She halted and looked up into the sky. The sun was sinking into the horizon, coloring the atmosphere around it an entire rainbow. The stars were beginning to come out in the sun's wake, twinkling up above in the aura of red, purple, and blue. She looked to her left and saw Jet standing beside her, looking at the sky along with her. 

"Jet..." she said, "...I've never held you in anything less than the highest regard. Faye was family to me...and through association alone, that makes you my family too." 

Jet met her gaze. 

"You've always been a voice of reason in my life, and there are plenty of times I should have listened to you and didn't," she continued. "So now I'm asking you to listen to me. I can't go on another second until I say this...I'm sorry for everything I said before. I know you don't try to drive people away from you. It's a curse that you've had to live with, and I had no right to exploit that." 

She gulped as she lowered her head and closed her eyes. 

"And...all I can do now...is ask your forgiveness." 

Ed was afraid to look at Jet for fear of what his reaction would be, good or bad. She heard a couple footsteps, then she felt a warm metal hand take hold of her own. She looked up and saw Jet standing tall in front of her, a compassionate, welcoming smile on his face. 

"You don't even have to ask." 

His metal hand slipped something in her right palm. She looked down and to her surprise, in her hand was Faye's ring. What grabbed her and shocked her even more was the new addition to Jet's hand. On the appropriate finger, he wore the matching ring. In fact, he didn't just wear it there, he had it welded there. 

"I never should've taken it off in the first place," he said. 

Edward looked into his eyes, and she beamed happily even while a few tears went down her face. Unable to hold herself back, she lunged at Jet and wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him tightly. 

"I don't care if you say it back or not," she whispered. "I love you, Jet." 

Jet didn't know how to react at first, but then negated his awe and held her back. 

"Yeah...I know."

  
  


**_I'M NOT GONNA STAND HERE AND WAIT..._**


	11. One Last Breath

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 11:**  
**_One Last Breath_**  


Ed tossed up another watermelon chunk and expertly caught it in her mouth while she paced up and down the _Bebop_ living room, balancing a brand new laptop on one hand. On screen was a map of the colonized solar system, decorated with numerous small white dots that represented each visit on Erik Estevez's demolition spree. 

"I think we're wasting time," Jet moaned, clipping a bonsai branch. "We have Crey in the lockup, and he already knows all about Double-E operation. Why not just ask him?" 

"For an ex-cop, I'd have figured you'd know better," Edward teased. "Crey is hardly in the state of mind for interrogation. I was hoping telling him the truth about Erik and his mother would be good enough persuasion, but that's exactly what put him in his current state of mind. Right now, we need to let him chew it over a little while. If we can't figure this out ourselves, then we turn to Crey. Hopefully by then he'll be in the mood to talk." 

"Ed, all the experts have been trying to crack Estevez's pattern ever since he first popped up on the news," argued Jet. "If they've got nothing, what chance does that give either of us?" 

"The so-called experts have repeatedly proven that they know absolutely squat," said Ed, munching on another chunk of melon. "Edward's had chancre sores with more brains than some of those guys." 

"Maybe, but some of those guys are professional psychologists. And as smart of you are, Ed, you're not exactly a student of human nature." 

"When it comes to discussing Erik Estevez, 'human nature' is a moot point." 

Jet rolled his eyes. Edward 1, Jet 0. 

Ed took a seat across from Jet and put the laptop down in front of her. 

"All the most complex scientific methods to determining the pattern have been exhausted," she said, "which leaves me with three viable choices. One, it's something so obscure it's ridiculous, two, it's something so simple it's ridiculous, or three, there's no pattern at all and he's just saying there is to throw everybody off." 

"That sounds a little ridiculous..." said Jet. 

"...Which is right up his alley!" they chanted in unison. 

"Okay, so let's go for obscurity first," Edward counseled. "MPU, scan the map and cross-reference it with any known symbol, letter, or number you can think of, no matter how little-known. Check ancient languages, gothic symbols, corporate logos...anything you can look up." 

"One minute, please." 

Edward impatiently watched the artificial intelligence go to work. As MPU scanned, countless random images flashed across the screen, creating a seizure-inducing collage of mismatching colors and shapes. The researched material included Egyptian hieroglyphics, Greek alphabets, ancient cave paintings, works of art, tattoo designs, and at least a hundred thousand different typefaces. Finally... 

"There are several similar designs, but I highly doubt any of them are relevant enough." 

"Scratch that," said Jet. "So now we look for the obvious answers." 

"Obvious answers, obvious answers..." Ed whispered to herself as she leaned forward in her seat. "Somehow it's always the simplest shit that's hardest to understand. At least that Teddy Bomber weirdo went with something easy." 

"Maybe there's something about the order he's going in," Jet proposed. 

"Well, he doesn't go for the shortest trip, that's for sure," she answered. "In fact, once he blew up a subway terminal on Mars, then went all the way to Venus to burn down an oxygen plant greenhouse. He could be doing that just for the sake of being confusing, but for the money he must be spending for gate travel, that's not to say there isn't a method to the madness. MPU, connect the dots in the order that Estevez attacked." 

MPU followed the order, and the map's highlighted areas were joined together by a series of bold white lines. Ed stared curiously at the "design" presented before her. She tried turning the computer on its side, upside down, even flipping the image itself horizontally. Whatever the positioning, it looked like nothing but a mess of lines. 

"Well, it doesn't look like there's anything special about chronological order," she said. "What else is there?...What about...the size of the building! Connect them in order of property size." 

The lines made before were removed, and MPU replaced them with a new set drawn to Edward's specifications. The resulting figure again made no sense. 

"Damn," she groaned. "What about the height of the buildings? Go from shortest to tallest." 

MPU drew another series of lines, but stopped halfway through. 

"Several of the structures are of equal height," the A.I. explained. 

"Maybe it's in the names," Jet spoke up. "Connect them in alphabetical order." 

The lines connected to that requirement. Once again, nothing relevant. 

"Maybe there's more to it than that," said Edward. "MPU, list all the first letters of the names of all the targets, and scramble them around. They could form a word or phrase." 

Another window popped up, where the names of the attacked locales were listed. MPU highlighted only the first letters of each list entry, deleted the rest, then systematically arranged and rearranged them in a plethora of fashions. 

"The letters form no single word," it said, "and the individual words do not seem to make any intelligible expression." 

"Let's keep that one in mind, just in case," Ed instructed. "What other possibilities can we go with?" 

"Well there's definitely no relation to what he's blowing up," Jet logged. "He pretty much goes after anything big enough to get noticed. Maybe the pattern matches a tattoo he has." 

"I checked that already," said MPU. "There were no matches in that category." 

"Well, what else have we got?" he urged. 

"We've covered all the obvious stuff," Edward grieved. "I'm starting to think I was right about that last one; he's just going at random." 

"Double-E's not crazy enough to just go at random," said Jet. "With all the planning he goes through for each hit, there's gotta be some blueprint he's got in mind, even if it's out of dementia." 

Ed drooped her head and cupped her hands over her scalp. She growled with frustration, then looked up and stared lifelessly at the dots on the solar system map, her fingers caged over her face while she peeked through them. 

"What's your plan, dammit?" she hissed to herself. "This is idiotic! For all we know, he could be spelling 'Kilroy was here' in Braille!" 

She kept on staring, looking at one dot, then moving to another, then another and another...until she noticed something. 

"MPU..." she said, "...connect the dots...in the order I tell you." 

Edward reached out her right hand and pointed a finger against the screen. She started at her first dot, and with each one she pointed to next, MPU drew a white line. She went one after another, looping the marks together around the outside of the mass. 

When she finished, she ran her other hand over her head as she sat up, glaring with balloon eyes at the arrangement of lines she just made. Her jaw dropped, and she began pulling at her hair. A single sentence blared from her lips, one she'd heard Faye utter on many an occasion, and one that fit oh so perfectly to the situation at hand: 

"You've got to be _KIDDING!"_

"What!?" asked Jet. "What is it!? What have you got there!?" 

Ed's eyes swiveled up to meet Jet's, her visage locked in a jolt of unbelief. One hand still ripping on her hair, she turned the computer around to give Jet a look. 

The lines on the screen formed, while jagged and irregular at best, an unmistakable form: a single letter of the English alphabet, and in fact the most commonly used one...the letter "E". 

"I'm not the only one seein' this, right?" he asked softly. "I mean, I'm a little tired right now, so I might not be thinking straight. Is this what I think it is?" 

Edward could give no response. 

"You mean to tell me..." Jet bellowed, "...that this entire reign of destruction of his...all the burned down, blown-up buildings...and all the people he killed along the way...was for one giant act of of _ graffiti!?!"_

"He's insane," Ed undertoned. "Good heavens, Jet, the man is insane." 

"That's an insult to every clinically insane person in this universe," he replied. "I don't think they've even got a word yet for what Erik Estevez is." 

"Perhaps not..." she said. "Fortunately for us, we know someone who's well familiar with what he is."

********

When they returned to the Tharsis police station and approached Crey Estevez's cell, they found Crey seated quietly on the bench within, staring frozenly at an active television set. From their angle, neither Jet nor Edward could tell what he was watching, and the sound was set so low that they couldn't even gain an audio clue. 

"What's with him?" Ed asked the guard. 

"The ISSP finally let loose all the details about what happened on Io two days ago," he explained. "This guy here heard one of us say something about the gas attack at Nomansland, and he wouldn't stop complaining till we brought a TV in there. He's been watching every bit of news coverage on it ever since. It's like he's the last guy alive to hear about this thing." 

"Funny you should say that..." Jet muttered. 

Ed mildly backhanded him in the ribs to shut him up. 

"Could you leave us alone with him please?" she asked. "He and I have some private matters to discuss." 

"Well, I have to stay outside that door, and there's a security camera up in the ceiling, but yeah," he said. 

The guard stepped outside. Ed walked up the steel bars, leaned against them, and stared morosely at Crey, who only sat on the bench in what appeared to be a comatose state. 

"So now you know," she said. 

"I told him..." Crey breathed. "I told him the day he convinced me to help him do this...that I would not become an accessory to his killing. I would make the explosives, and whatever he had to do to get it to where it was going, that was his concern. I told him...I looked him straight in the eyes, and I said, 'This is the business you have chosen. You can kill all the people you want, Erik, but you will not...you will not make me responsible for any of it.'" 

"Are aren't responsible for the people on Io, Crey," said Edward. "You can't do the sort of things Erik does. You're not like him, I know it." 

Crey jumped from the bench and leaped at the cell door. Edward backed away as he landed against the bars and dug his body himself against them, glowering at her. 

"What the hell do you know!?" he screamed. "Who do you think we're kidding here, Ed!? I knew all along what he was doing! Whether or not I took part in it, that makes me just as responsible!" 

"So you think you're to blame for a BC weapon you didn't know anything about?" she asked. "You put yourself on the line for a crowd of strangers in Memphis and one old man on Callisto, and now you put the burden on yourself for what your brother has done?" 

"He is my brother, after all." 

"What about your mother, Crey?" asked Ed. "You know nothing about what really happened to her until one day ago." 

Just the mention of his mother turned Crey's raging nerves into jelly. He fell to his knees, still clawing his hands against the bars. 

"He lied to me..." he said. "The son of a bitch lied to me..." 

"Yes, he lied to you," said Ed, kneeling down in front of him. "He lied to you, and he forced you to take part in his sick conspiracies, just because he knew how loyal you are to your family. You're a mindless, susceptible tool, Crey...but you're nothing even close to what he is." 

He didn't look at her; he only looked down at the floor as he began to break down into tears. Edward pried one of his hands from the bars and grasped it tightly. 

"Crey, help me!" she pleaded. "You're the only one I can turn to! Tell me where he's going! Help me end this insanity once and for all! For Faye, for your mother, for all the lives he's destroyed, either by his own hand or through you. Help me stop him before he destroys you too!" 

She reached through the bars and lifted up his head so they could look one another eye to eye, compassion in hers, sorrow in his. 

"I've lost too many people in my life who deserved better," she said. "And even for what you've done, I don't think I could stand it if you became Erik's next victim." 

They stared at each other for a long time, then Crey turned from her and shut his eyes as another tear went down his face. Edward grimaced at him, grabbed him by the back of his head, and pulled him face-first against the steel bars. He collapsed to the floor following the impact, and Edward rose to her feet and started storming out of the room. 

"Fine, to hell with you!" she blasted. "I'm not gonna waste my time sympathizing over you! Come on, Jet!" 

Jet shrugged and followed her. They were about to exit, when: 

"Project EarthShield," Crey moaned. 

They stopped. Edward turned back around and approached the cell again. 

"What did you say?" 

"Project EarthShield," he repeated, rolling into a seated position. "Erik is going to sabotage Project EarthShield." 

"What's Project EarthShield?" asked Jet. 

"It's a secret collaboration between the Venus, Earth, Mars, and Jupiter governments," he said. "Back in the 1980s, the President of the United States proposed a plan to set up a defense system to protect the US against nuclear weapons launched by an enemy nation. The plan was judged too flawed to work, so it was shelved. They never thought it would ever get off the ground. Then about ten years ago, the chairman of the United Planets brought the project back to the forefront so it could be refined and finally put into action." 

"What purpose could that possibly serve?" Edward inquired. "The Cold War has been over for nearly a century." 

"The objective was altered," Crey proceeded. "They wanted to start the project again as a defense for not just the US, but for the entire Earth...against the rock showers. Right now, at seven different locations, they're constructing a series of high-powered laser satellites. When they're finished, they'll be put into permanent orbit around Earth, and once they're online, no matter where over the planet, if a rock starts coming down, they'll vaporize it before it even hits the stratosphere. That way..." 

"...The Earth will finally be safe to live on again!" Jet finished. 

"What's he going to do?" asked Ed. 

"Blow them all up at once." 

"But why?" asked Jet. 

"'Cause it's there to be done," said Crey. "He talked about doing it for years, but I never thought he'd actually do it. But it looks like somehow, he found a way to do it." He growled. "He called it 'the final stroke in his masterpiece'...the lunatic." 

Edward held out her hand in Jet's direction. In response, he handed her backpack to her, out of which she took her laptop. She knelt down, slipped it through the bars and gave it to Crey. 

"Show me." 

Crey stared at her a moment, then reluctantly took the computer. He opened it up to find the map of Double-E's visits. He typed some keys, then handed the laptop back to Ed. 

Seven new dots - four positioned in a diamond pattern near Venus and Earth, and the other three in space outside of the Jupiter Moons area - were positioned on the map, all of which were to the right of the giant "E" shape. Connected together, they formed what looked like a giant exclamation point. 

Ed arched a brow. The entire mess was getting crazier by the minute. 

"Where's he going to do it from?" 

"I don't know," Crey answered. 

"Crey..." 

"I don't know!" he yelled. "He never told me anything about it. Just that he was going to do it. I don't know how, I don't know where, I don't know nothin'. All I can tell you is this: whenever he tells me about his next target, he makes it there by midnight the next night. Wherever he plans to do this from, he'll be there at twelve o'clock." 

He lowered his head again and buried it in his hands, while Ed stared at him empathetically. She half-reached her hand into the cell as if to offer it to Crey, then pulled it back and returned to her feet, hugging the laptop like she wished it was him. 

"Thank you," she murmured. 

********

Later, on the _Bebop..._

"Okay, so we know what he's doing," said Jet, "and we know when...now all we need to know is where." 

"Double-E's pulling the stunt at midnight," said Edward, "and even Crey doesn't know where he's going to do it. That puts us at a major disadvantage." 

She called up the map again and set the laptop flat against the tabletop so that both she and Jet could look it over. She holographically enlarged the screen to twice its actual size, with the seven planned points of attack emphasized. 

"Logically, he'd do it from one of these seven sites," she reckoned. "He could have set up the bombs at each location while he was making his way around, and then he'd send a detonation signal out from wherever he is, and that will blow them all up at once." 

"The question is," Jet broke in, "where could he possibly get to in ten hours that could carry a signal to all seven areas?" 

"That indeed is a good question," Ed agreed. "It's even harder to answer given the technology limitations. Even the strongest communications satellite can't project a signal from Jupiter all the way to Venus without a good lot of static. If Estevez was planning to go from one end of the solar system to the other, he'd know there's no chance the command would reach the other side in one piece. And even from the innermost point on the map, there's still the overwhelming possibility of a malfunction." 

"He isn't close enough to any of them to make it there by midnight. And Double-E doesn't strike me as the kid of guy to show up late for something like this. It could be he's planning from fire off the signal from somewhere in the middle of the sol system." 

"The only satellite that could do that was on AM-1290," said Ed, "and he already destroyed that one. I don't think he'd have intentionally put himself up a river without a paddle like that. There's gotta be somewhere else!" 

"Maybe Estevez didn't think this through as well as he could," Jet implied. 

"Oh, trust me, he thought this through all right," she answered. "A guy with his agenda always has a backup plan." 

"In all possibility, maybe AM-1290 was his backup plan." 

"I'm sick of all the 'maybe's!" Edward boomed. "We don't have time to sit around and speculate, Jet! Estevez probably knows that's what we're doing, so right about now he's laughing at us while he's on his way to wherever, and we're still stuck here with our thumbs planted firmly up our asses!" She extended a hand into Jet's face. "Say, would you like a chocolate-covered pretzel?" 

Jet slapped the hand away. "Well I'm sorry, Ed, but speculation's all we got! And you're right; if we don't come up with something soon, we could lose him forever, so right now--"

********

After about five hours of non-stop news on the Io gas attack, Crey turned off the TV and decided to snooze. As much as he loathed both himself and his brother, and on a much lesser level Edward for breaking it to him so bluntly, there was nothing he could do about it while behind bars. 

In spite of his recent depreciation, he felt quite comfortable, at least in terms of his legal predicaments. He knew the police had nothing on Crey Estevez, who, after The Unknown Bounty's measures to make it appear so, did not exist according to any known record. And even when they found the files on Crey Jenét DeSanto, he knew the police would find he had committed no crimes, and they would tell no difference between that deduction and the truth, especially from the available forged documents. He'd be out of jail by noon the next day. Unfortunately, that was far too late to take any action against Erik's mad scheme. 

"Hey, you!" someone called. 

Crey turned his head over and received a sideways view of a guard walking in with a musical instrument in his hands; an electric guitar, painted a beautiful ebony black that tinted green under just the right light. 

"We fished this out of the truck, just like you asked," the guard said. "You're lucky it's such good condition. That truck was trashed all to hell. Guess it's a little more resilient than you, eh?" 

He stuck the neck of the guitar through the bars. Crey got up from the bench, took the guitar, then took it with him back to his seat. 

"You get much practice out of that thing?" 

Crey responded by flawlessly reproducing the first few bars of Jimi Hendrix's "Voodoo Child". 

"Never mind," the guard mumbled, exiting out the door. 

Crey eyed the door to make sure the guard was gone. He looked all around the room, taking note of the security camera in the ceiling that would surely witness his any suspicious acts he might perform while inside. It was a chance he'd have to take. He tuned the strings, brought his fingers to the strings, then held his breath and hoped against hope that for once he could get this tune right. 

He played all the desired notes in their correct order, even past that one part that he always managed to screw up. 

Crey exhaled with satisfaction when he heard himself finish the song. Not only was it the first time in a long while that he was able to play it without falter, but it was also a saving grave for getting out of the cell. 

On the bottom rim of the guitar, a divider slid open and two objects fell from inside the compartment within and fell to the floor. Crey set the guitar aside for a moment and examined the objects; one was a long wire attached to a thin, flat button panel, and the other was a small black capsule with a green stripe painted along the middle - an acid cap and a spare detonator. Crey smirked. 

He first took the wire and button and strapped it around his right wrist. He then picked up the capsule, reached around the outside of the cell door and slipped the acid cap inside the lock. 

He took several steps back so that nothing would spill on him, then held out his hand and hit the button on his palm twice. A soft pop echoed through the room, followed by a rapid sizzling. Electric sparks exploded from the inside of the lock, and it began to melt away while acid gushed through the machinery, out the seams, and onto the ground. When the burning liquid started eating through to the inside of the cell, that's when Crey made his move. He picked up his guitar and dashed at the cell door, shoving his boot against the steel bars and knocking the door open. 

An alarm went off, and red lights started flashing. Crey sort of expected that, but still growled at himself when he realized how big a damper it would put on his escape plans. 

The guard came rushing in the door, but Crey quickly counteracted his intended assault. As the guard came at the fugitive, Crey thrust the blunt end of the guitar into the guard's stomach, instantly stunning him. He then permanently took the guard out of his way by swinging the guitar upwards, smashing it against the man's face with a splash of blood and a emancipated tooth. 

Another guard ran in as Crey grabbed the unconscious guard's gun. Before the guard could fire, Crey fired a bullet into each arms, rendering him unable to use his own weapon. Crey ran around him and sealed a headlock on him as he yelled in pain. Together they walked out the door, Crey's left arm around the guard's neck, and the right holding a gun to the poor man's temple. 

With hostage in hand, Crey easily made his way out the front door of the police station and into a nearby cruiser. He stashed the guard in the passenger's side and himself in the driver's seat, charged the vehicle for a few miles, then knocked the hostage out and tossed him out the door as he continued on down the highway. 

"Sorry, Ed..." he muttered, "...but Erik Estevez's ass belongs to me." 

********

"Erik Estevez will activate the signal from Asteroid Tijuana." 

The bickering ceased, and both Ed and Jet turned their heads to the laptop on the table when the voice of MPU piped up. 

"Come again?" asked Ed. 

"I took it upon myself to further research Project EarthShield," said MPU. "It seems Crey was slightly mistaken. There are eight construction sites, not seven." 

The map of the seven locations blinked out for a moment, then reappeared with an eighth dot pointing right at the city-sized chunk of floating rock next to Mars. 

"When Crey mentioned the involvement of the Mars government, I became slightly curious, since none of the seven facilities he indicated would coincide with such a statement. The eighth construction site is located on the unpopulated side of Tijuana, and it is where the EarthShield system's 'master satellite' is being built. Also at that installation is a communications satellite provided especially for the duration of the program. It is there so that all eight facilities can keep in constant contact with one another, just to ensure that they are all making sufficient progress." 

Jet and Ed looked up at each other, reflected the mutual astonishment on their faces, then looked at the computer again. 

"Furthermore, and I am certain of this information's importance," MPU continued, "but each laser satellite has been outfitted with a self-destruct mechanism that can only be activated with the correct password, and only from the master satellite." 

Edward balled her right fist and pounded it into her left palm. 

"That's it!" she cried. "He's going to activate the master satellite's self-destruct mode, and then use TJ's dish to send the signal to the rest of them! He didn't even need to set the explosives this time, 'cause they already did it for him!" 

"It's so simple it's ridiculous," Jet commented. 

"I hope you can forgive me for acting without your consent, Ed," MPU said. 

Edward bent over and planted a big kiss on the laptop's screen. "Feel free to go behind my back any time you want!" 

"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked. 

She closed up the laptop and turned to Jet with a big grin. 

"It means..." she said, "...Erik Estevez's ass belongs to me!" 

********

11:50 P.M. 

Erik didn't like getting things done too early, so he decided to take the scenic route to the main control room; see the sights, kill some technicians, that sort of thing. Just for the sake of challenging himself, he let one live long enough to make a phone call to the ISSP, or least part of one, since he slit the woman's throat before she could divulge their location. Calculating the time it would take to trace the call, added to the time of arrival for any authority figures, Estevez figured he had a good forty-five minutes. So much for a challenge. 

As long as he time to kill - cue rimshot - he did take a few moments to enjoy the view from the control room's observation window, seeing as how it wouldn't last. Laid out in the grandest of fashions, down below a series of high-rise catwalks, was the laser satellite, the cylindrical body and particle beam cannon completed with the only remaining work to be done on the solar panel "wings" attached on either side. On the far end of the construction lab was a five-story window wall, just outside of which was the installation's communications dish. 

Double-E smiled. He hadn't actually seen the size of the laser projector until now, but from its size he deduced the resulting explosion would decimate not only the satellite but also the dish outside, if not the the entire building. And with the same thing happening throughout the solar system, there was no way this wouldn't get noticed. 

"Be proud of yourself, Erik," he said. "After tonight, they'll never forget your name." 

He got right to work, unloading the hefty contents of his bag of tricks. First, he mounted seven flat computer monitors all across the control panel, leaving space between them for a final instrument. The last item Erik pulled out was a laptop, which he plugged into several data ports on the panel. He set it down between the four flat-screens on his left and the three on his right, then turned the computer on. All eight screens lit up simultaneously, and all displayed a diagram of the laser satellite network. The one exhibited on the laptop was labeled SAT-MASTER, located on Asteroid Tijuana, while the others were named SAT-A through G and subtitled with each respective location. 

Continuing his plan on the laptop, Erik slowly typed on the keyboard to ensure he was pressing the right buttons, since he wasn't quite as proficient with the device as his brother. His progress entertained him when the lights on the control panel blinked in perfect timing to his actions, indicating he'd successfully linked up the laptop to the main computer. 

A window appeared before Erik, containing a black text box and a command entry cursor. He entered the following: 

ACCESS SATELLITE MAINFRAME 

ACCESS SATELLITE FAILSAFE SYSTEM 

ACCESS SATELLITE SELF-DESTRUCT

His commands led him to a blueprint of the laser satellite, with one large rectangle highlighted in a glowing red box. Having studied these same blueprints beforehand, Erik knew that was the self-destruct mechanism. 

He opened a second command window and typed in: 

ACCESS COMMUNICATIONS MAINFRAME 

ESTABLISH LINK TO STATION 

_SPECIFY WHICH STATIONS YOU WISH TO LINK WITH:_ ALL

On all the screens, the eight satellites were outlined in bright yellow, their communication lines stemming from the master satellite in the middle. 

Only one thing left to do. Going back to the first command window, he entered: 

ACTIVATE SELF-DESTRUCT MODE 

_SELF-DESTRUCT WHICH SATELLITE?:_ ALL

An alert noise popped from the speakers, followed by a warning message asking if he was sure he wanted to do this. Three buttons, labeled Yes, No, and Cancel were also presented. As far as Erik was concerned, there was only the Yes button. 

The laptop screen turned black, and a final input window appeared requesting the password. Erik pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read the password he had discovered earlier. He typed in the letters and numbers perfectly, then focused his eyes on the Enter button and smiled evilly. 

He twirled his finger around in a spiral and closed his eyes before pressing the button. 

Nothing. 

"Huh?" 

He looked at the screen and saw a message reading:

_INVALID PASSWORD_

Erik read the password on his piece of paper again, and entered it onto the computer screen once again, typing the sequence one cipher at a time. He made absolutely certain it was perfect, then hit the enter button again. 

_INVALID PASSWORD_

"What!?!" 

He tore the paper in half and threw it away, then frantically typed in the password into the entry box again and again, each time receiving the same message. 

"What in the hell--!?" he screamed. "What's wrong with this thing!? That IS the password, I'm sure of it! Why isn't it working!?" 

"Because I changed it over the web." 

He stood perfectly still as he heard the voice behind him. 

"You didn't really think I'd let you do it, did you?" the intruder continued. "I changed the password years ago, just to be certain that even if you did find a way to pull this off that you couldn't. I just didn't have the heart to let you." 

Erik slowly turned around to see his younger brother Crey standing in the middle of the room, guitar on his back and gun in his hand. Crey raised the firearm and pointed it straight at Erik's head. 

"'One owes respect to the living; to the dead one owes only truth'...Voltaire," he said. "You're about to die, Erik. I think out of respect, the least you owe me is the truth." 

The evil one smirked. "Truth, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder." 

"And just what is so damn beautiful about what you do, brother?" asked Crey. "And just who is beholding either the beauty or truth of it?" 

"So you know about Io." 

"Yeah, I know," he hissed. "It makes me sick to my stomach, but I know." 

"So what are you going to do?" Erik asked mockingly. 

"What I should have done," Crey answered. "Seen you for the manipulative, blood-lusting psychopath that you are. But I have to give you credit...it would have taken at least that much to fool me into helping you. What was it I told you, Erik? Huh? What did I tell you!? I said, and I quote, you will not make me responsible for any of it! Do you think I'm that dense!? What, did you think I'd never find out!?" 

"If I had my way." 

"Well you don't, not anymore. I'm ending this now, Erik. And you should feel pretty damn good that it's me doing it." 

The two remained frozen. Erik was impassive to the gun in front of his face, and Crey, narrowing his gaze, couldn't yet bring himself to even cock the gun. 

"September 9, 2076," he said. 

Erik's stolidness was broken when Crey recited the date. 

"That's when she said you did it," Crey went on. "Is it true?" 

No answer. 

"IS IT TRUE!?!" 

Erik curled his lip and recouped his sinister bravado. "It's true." 

Crey recoiled at his brother's chilly confession. He momentarily lowered his head and the gun, making noises under his breath as if suppressing a scream. 

"Our mother, you sick fuck," he growled, looking at Erik again. "Our MOTHER!" 

"She was MY mother!" Erik yelled back. "Who even said you were really her son anyway!? She found you on the doorstep when I was three years old! Yeah, that's right, you were a throwaway! But somehow that made _you_ her favorite! You were supposed to be the outcast, not me! Whenever you needed something from her, be it money, attention, love, you got it, no questions asked! And what I get? Your leftovers, you little shit! What, you're still surprised I did it? That I take pride in it? Grow up, Crey! You knew all along what kind of man I am! I kill dozens! What difference is one more gonna make, even if she is my mother!? She was all I had, and it was fine with just the two of us! But then you fell into our lives and screwed everything up! So if I couldn't have her, then at least neither could you! You think you hate me now? I have hated you from the very beginning." 

Crey tightened his grip on the gun. "After all the lies you've told me, you really think I'd buy into that crock of shit?" 

"Doesn't matter to me," Erik replied. "Whether you buy it or not, it's still the truth." 

"As somebody I once respected so fluently put it, truth, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder." He raised the gun and aimed between Erik's eyes again. "Well, here's at least one truth I can still behold." 

Erik grinned and started laughing. 

"You're kidding me, right?" he sneered. "You couldn't pull that trigger in a million years. I know you too well. You and guns, man? It's never been a match made in heaven. You shrink away like a scalded dog whenever you see one. Even for everything I've done, you couldn't kill me. It makes me sick as all hell seeing you like this. Still so god damn sentimental about human life...even for that of a murderer." 

Crey took a step forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against the skin on Erik's forehead. 

"Brother dear..." he said, cocking the gun, "...don't _ever_ assume you know me!" 

He pulled the trigger. 

As the gun went off, Erik shifted to one side, grabbed Crey's arm, and pointed the firearm off in a safer direction. Shaking off his surprise, Crey tried to force the gun back at Erik's head, but fighting Double-E's grip was like bench pressing a bulldozer. Erik stood still before him, his eyes closed and the grin still on his face. 

Erik opened his eyes, revealing a most unappetizing sight; the arteries in the whites of his eyes had become thick and bulging, and the irises themselves turned a demonic blood-red color. The same color as the drug Bloody Eye. 

"Missed," he said. 

Before Crey could do anything else, he was left reeling after four consecutive punches - thrown so quickly that all he saw was a blur of knuckles - were landed against his face. 

Erik took the gun from his adopted brother and stepped back. Crey balanced himself on his feet for a second or two, then to his knees and plopped face-first to the floor. 

"Dumbass," Estevez slurred. 

He threw the gun off to the side and turned back to the computer monitors. He immediately cursed again when he laid eyes on the password entry screen. 

"Shit, I forgot to ask him what the password was," he mumbled. "Maybe I can guess it...Now let's see...what would be change it to?..." 

He began entering one password after another, using words and phrases familiar to both himself and Crey. He started with GREENSBORO, their home town, followed by DOUBLE-J, then JESSICA JADE, then the titles of a number of songs he heard Crey singing around the house throughout the years. He tried Crey's pseudonym THE UNKNOWN BOUNTY, then a few random techo-babble terms. Just for a laugh, he even entered the name EDWARD, even if it was a long shot. All his attempts failed. 

All the while, Crey, obviously in a state of delirium, remained face down on the floor, singing the muffled lyrics to his favorite song. 

"Goodbye Norma Jean..." he garbled, "...though I....though I never...knew you at all..." 

The fizzled struggle to guess the new self-destruct password was gradually driving Erik up the wall. He was close to ripping his hair out. 

"Damn you, what's the password!?" 

"...You had the grace...to hold yourself..." 

Estevez whirled around and glowered. "Would you shut up!? I'm tryin' to work here!" 

"...while those around you crawled..." 

Erik went back to the password screen and tried another password, only to see it too fail. He banged his head against the control panel and let himself sink against it, his frustration taking full control. 

"Goodbye..." Crey kept singing, "...goodbye Norma Jean..." 

All of a sudden, Erik rose from his slump and stared bright-eyed into empty space, the proverbial light bulb going off over his head. He looked back at his babbling brother and smiled as if to offer belated gratitude, then put his fingers to the keyboard and tried one last password: GOODBYE NORMA JEAN. 

The entry screen disappeared, and a clock ascended in its place. It started at twenty seconds and quickly went backwards. 

Erik smiled with victory and stroked his chin. "It's been one hell of a trip, hasn't it?" 

One tenth of a second clicked by after another, bringing the timer closer and closer to zero. 

"And don't feel too bad, Crey," he said. "After all, you're about five seconds from going to meet Mom again." 

00:05:00... 

00:04:00... 

00:03:00... 

00:02:00... 

"See ya in hell, bro." 

00:01:00... 

The final second came and went. Estevez shut his eyes and raised his arms at his sides, expecting to first feel the explosion's force and then smell his flesh scorching as his body started to burn. 

He reopened his eyes a few moments later when he realized nothing was happening. He glanced at the countdown clock and almost screamed. On the display instead of six digital zeros, there was an alternate set of matching circular shapes; six of those goofy grinning smiley faces, all identical to the one tattooed on a certain pesky bounty hunter's shoulder. 

Before he could try the password again, all eight screens turned black and shut down. A voice on the P.A. system burst into the room: 

"Sorry, Estevez," it said, "but the latest word from hell is in...They don't want you." 

Estevez backed away from the control panel and looked all around him. There were several speakers throughout the room, and the sheet metal surfaces of the walls, ceiling, and floor gave the voice's echo a god-like boom. 

"In fact, the devil called today, said I could have you all to myself." 

He continued walking backwards, then turned around completely and headed for the exit door, only to see it suddenly slide shut and lock, all on its own. 

"I wouldn't make it that easy, Estevez," the voice said condescendingly. "That's the way you like it, right? Nice and easy? But the minute things get complicated, you turn and run. That's why you really turned to murder, isn't it, Double-E? After all, nothing's easier than killing someone you don't even know." 

Erik circled the room, peeking around every corner and into every nook and cranny to find the source of the voice. 

"You don't know me, Estevez," it stated. "Try killing me." 

"Shut up!" Estevez snarled. 

"But Edwards knows you," the voice sing-songed. "Edward knows all about you, Erik Estevez. Edward knows how your twisted little mind works..." 

"Shut up!" he reprised, raising his voice. 

"Edward knows your thoughts..." 

"Shut up!" 

"...Your dreams..." 

"SHUT UP!" 

"Edward knows your deepest secrets, and your deepest, darkest fears." 

_ "SHUT UP!"_

"But most of all, Erik...Edward knows..." 

Estevez turned in an effort to ram the door, but just as he did, the bounty hunter known as Edward, hanging upside-down from the ceiling rafters, swung down in front of him and blocked his path. 

"...That only one of us is leaving here alive!" 

She butted forth her head and knocked it right between his eyes. As he stumbled back a few steps, Ed somersaulted to the floor, whirled around, and delivered a kick to Estevez's chest. He fell backward and hit the control panel, knocking down two of the flat-screens as he slumped to the floor. 

As Estevez got up, he took in a murderous eyeful of his new opponent. Except for the bleached gray shirt hanging from her arms, and the gray sweatsocks and white-and-blue sneakers on her feet, Edward was clad in attire very different from her usual dress code. Her hips were hugged by a pair of skin-tight black shorts, and her torso was adorned with a matching midriff-exposing sleeveless top. Her fists were wrapped in white tape, and as a finishing touch, her forearms and shins were shielded with sports guards made of hard blue plastic. 

"What are you done up all fancy for?" Estevez ogled. 

"A funeral," Ed answered. 

"Your own!" 

He raced forward, commencing the fight with a wide punch aimed at her head. She ducked under his arm and backhanded his face as he turned around. She grabbed him by the shirt and whisked a fist across his mouth. She repeated the blow two more times, forcing him back against the wall. Once she had him there, she put her hands over his head and tried to drive her knee into his face, but he blocked it with his arms, broke off Edward's grip, and shoved her away with a foot to the chest. 

Ed slid across the floor and rolled backwards, returning to her feet in a squatting position. Estevez was about to gallop ahead again, but halted when he saw Ed in her ready-to-pounce stance. 

The two stared each other eye to eye from opposite ends of the room. Estevez stretched the muscles in his neck, letting out a sigh. 

"Y'know, you've been a lot more trouble than you're worth, Baby Bird," he said. 

"The name is Edward, schmucko," she replied. "Remember it, 'cause before the night is out, you'll be begging it for mercy." 

"You're even softer than I thought," said Estevez, walking forward. "See me, I don't bother waitin' to hear 'em beg." 

As he walked, he pulled his silver lighter from the pocket and opened up the two-inch switchblade hidden within. He tossed it into the air and caught it, then admired his warped reflection in the blade. 

"It's weird, but I can still smell the blood on this thing from the first person I ever killed with it," he said. 

"Why?" asked Ed, approaching him. "Did you use it to knife your mother in the back?" 

He laughed. "Funny...Actually, it is." 

An instant later he swiped the blade at her. She waved opposite and snatched his arm, then elbowed him in the face. She lifted her knee in and hit him in the gut, then repositioned herself so that he faced her backside. She bent over and kicked her leg upward, putting the heel of her shoe into his nose, knocking him onto his back. She kept coming as he got up, but he shot out one foot to ward her off. He didn't connect, but the motion forced her to stop. While she jerked to a halt, Estevez quickly rolled at her and threw a roundhouse kick in her direction. Edward ducked underneath it, then backed away and moved to her side as he made a forward thrusting kick. She spun around and tried to backhand him again, but he blocked, grabbed her by the arm, and used the attack's momentum to lift Ed off the ground and over his shoulders. She landed flat on her back, but swiftly made a forward roll before Estevez could soccor-kick her while she was down. As she turned to face him, she was left with no reaction time as Estevez wrapped his arms around her waist, took a few running steps, then tossed her through the air. She impacted against the observation window, leaving a body-sized ring of cracks in the glass as she fell to the floor. 

Clawing at her spine, Edward struggled to her feet, using the control panel as a climbing wall. She looked in Estevez's direction and jumped away in time as he came at her with a high axe-kick. Estevez's foot smashed down upon the control panel, driving a large dent into the metal surface and sending buttons flying. Ed moved back and chopped her hand at the underside of his leg, tripping him up and putting him on the floor again, but he instantly whipped himself back onto his feet. He rushed again, but Ed rolled out of his way and put some distance between herself and her opponent with some acrobatic Capoeria flips and cartwheels. 

The two bolted at each other. Edward faked a high attack and instead ducked down low and tried to sweep a leg underneath Estevez's ankles. Estevez anticipated such an attack and wheeled up one leg to allow Ed's to go under him. As Ed finished the attack, Estevez kicked the lifted leg around and hit her right underneath the chin. She fell and shoulder-rolled into a kneeling stance. Estevez ran toward her, and from her kneel, she leapfrogged upward and let him go underneath her. He stopped himself just before running into the wall, but as he turned around, Ed jumped up again and dropkicked him in the chest. He was sandwiched between the wall and her feet, and the impact drove the breath right out of him. Half-stunned, he fell and sat against the wall. Ed took the chance to continue the attacks, first hitting a running knee into his collarbone. She pulled him to his feet and punched him in the face a couple times, just to keep him groggy long enough for her next strike. She backed away about ten feet, then rushed full speed at him for a big running attack. But as she came at him, he pushed himself from the wall, made a 360-degree turn, and sent to her floor with a spinning lariat. 

Hugging her head, Edward turned over onto her stomach, then was forced to rise when Estevez grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. As she got up, however, she got a grip on Erik's body and drove her knee into his sternum. She followed with an uppercut, almost losing her fist up his flared nostrils. He stumbled backward, and she pursued with several more strikes to the face. She kicked him in the side, in the stomach, and in the face, then whirled in a circle to perform a roundhouse. Estevez ducked under the attack and threw his own kick at her. She blocked with both arms, but the force of the kick knocked her over, and she rolled backwards to get back on her feet. She rushed at him and ducked under a punch, ending up back to back with him. She first shot back an elbow, hitting him in the back of the neck and forcing him to bend over. She fired her other elbow into the bottom of his spine, forcing him to stand up straight again. Finally, she reached behind her, grabbed Estevez by the head, and let herself to fall to the floor, dragging him down with her and smacking his head against the floor! 

Edward tried to pull Estevez from the floor, but when she came close enough, he turned his body around and uppercut her in the face. She dropped right next to him, burying her face in her hands. Estevez got up and took hold of her ankle and began dragging her toward the cracked window, perhaps with the intention of throwing her through it this time. Midpoint across the room, she kicked out her other foot and unclasped his grip. She twirled upon the floor and swept a leg underneath Erik's, sending him into a near-complete somersault as he collided with the floor. Ed rose and waited for him to face her. She hunched over and made ready for another big attack, and when he finally got up and began to turn around, she ran at him. Unfortunately, as he turned around, he thrust the sole of his boot at her, catching it right in her face with a sick rubber smack. 

He circled around Edward's floored body and was about to assault when he suddenly felt something wet under his nose. He wiped his upper lip and examined what had rubbed off onto his fingers; a thin red liquid that wasn't blood. As Edward forced herself to her hands and knees, Erik stood over her, covered one nostril and snorted out through the other, blowing the spilled Bloody Eye at her backside. 

"You're the first one since that bitch of a partner of yers to bust me open like that," he huffed, fingering the scar on his jaw. 

He tried to stomp on her, but she moved out of the way and backed away, still struggling to her feet. When she glared at him, he saw a nasty-looking bruise on her cheek, and a large cut on her lower lip with a line of thick red streaming down her chin from it. Her teeth and gums were also slightly stained with blood. 

Ed took a moment to catch her breath, then spat a drib of the bitter fluid from the corner of her mouth. 

"That all ya got to say?" Erik asked. 

"I'll have plenty more to say in your eulogy," she retorted. 

He shrugged and smirked, then tried to take her head off with a low spinning kick. She arched backward and dodged, and she continued the motion to turn herself upright, putting a foot against the wall behind her as an extra push for her next running start. She lunged into the air and took him down with a flying clothesline, then passed by him two more times and knocked him down a similar action. She waited for him to get up, then came at him again and aimed a kick at his face. Unfortunately, he grabbed her leg in mid-attack, swung her entire body around, and tossed her across the room, again landing her against the control panel. 

Estevez casually approached her, judging from her wobbly state that she didn't have enough left in her to resist. 

Edward slowly got to her hands and knees. She opened her eyes and saw one of the flat-screens on the ground in front of her. In its reflective surface, she suddenly caught Erik's reflection hovering over her, and in response she shot out one foot, hitting him in the stomach and pushing him back. Edward hopped up onto her feet, at the same time grabbing the flat-screen. She turned to Estevez and tossed the screen at him, and he caught in on reflex. Just as he did, Edward jumped straight up and performed a mid-air spinning kick, shoving her foot against the back of the flat-screen and driving the other side into Estevez's head! 

With a smash of glass and a painful grunt, Estevez fell to the floor with several shards from the flat-screen sticking out of his face. As he sat up, Edward kicked him in the chest to keep him floored. She stepped forward and stomped her foot against his head, then put all her weight on that foot and twisted her entire body upon it. Estevez screeched as the shards scraped holes through his flesh. 

Ed again waited for Estevez to rise, this time knowing he couldn't avoid her, especially when she saw his face. One eye was half-closed, for there was blood pouring from the cut made in his forehead. From the four other gashes, there was not only blood but that same thin red juice seeping out. 

"Now THAT's a bloody eye!" she said. 

He turned to her at the sound of her voice, and she greeted him with a double roundhouse kick. She continued with several more punches and kicks, then ended with a shot to the stomach, forcing him to bend over. She took a pace back then hopped forward again, making an axe-kick in the air and bringing her right leg down upon the back of his neck. They both fell to the floor, and Edward's leg pounded Estevez face-first into the steel. 

She kicked him in the side to roll him over, and he started getting up again much quicker than she expected. When he faced her again, she made a boxing stance and shot three consecutive left-handed jabs into his face. She wound up her right arm for the coup de grace, kissing the fist for good luck before hurling it at him. However, he blocked the last punch, grabbed her arm, and twisted it around to immobilize her. He hit her in the stomach, then in the face, then put her on the ground with a wide clothesline. Ed nearly bounced onto her stomach after landing on her upper back, but just whipped herself back onto her feet and took another running start. She jumped onto the control panel, rebounded off it, and flew at Estevez, wrapping her legs around his neck and shoulders for a leg-scissors throw. She swung her body downward, but Estevez held his ground and was not pulled off his feet as she had planned. Instead, he pulled her back up onto his shoulders, made a vise grip on her waist, then powerbombed her onto the floor! 

As the fatigued Edward lay half-lifeless at his feet, Estevez wiped some of the blood from his face, then kicked poor Ed in the side, turning her onto her side. Mercilessly, he placed another kick into her stomach, then a stomp to the spine, leaving her face-down on the ground. 

"It's been real fun, Baby Bird," he puffed, "but this here's gettin' real old, real fast." 

He walked to the middle of the room and picked up his cigarette lighter, its blade still open, then went back to where Ed was. He knelt down and put the tip of the switchblade against the back of her neck. 

"Any last words...before I sell what's left of ya to the butcher shop?" 

Edward took a deep breath before uttering an expended reply. 

"Nothing...immediately springs to mind..." she said, "...but I've got...a pretty good feeling...that you've just said yours." 

"Say what?" Estevez asked. 

"You heard what she said." 

The sound of a familiar voice brought Estevez to his feet. He turned around, and there was Crey, holding his guitar by the neck and swinging it like a golf club. 

The body of the instrument was pounded upon Erik's cranium, and pieces of wood, paint, and guitar strings went coasting in all directions. Estevez was not knocked down, sadly; he stumbled a good bit and nearly lost his balance, but to Crey's immense surprise, he did not fall. 

Then out of nowhere, Erik side-stepped toward his brother and darted out one foot, smacking Crey in the chin with the sole of his shoe. Crey promptly went down. 

"Hit ME with a guitar, you little prick!?" Estevez yelled, soccor-kicking Crey in the face. "Wish I'd shoved that thing down your throat when I had the chance!" 

He held a hand to his throbbing scalp as he walked toward the exit. 

"Well, folks, it's been...unusual," he announced. "But since the cops are comin' and I never got to blow this place up, I'm just gonna have to come back some other time. And since you two punks are the only ones left here, you're the only ones who're gonna get blamed for all dead bodies lyin' 'round here! Funny how shit like that works out, ain't it?" 

He approached the door, but stopped in mid-stride when he realized it was still closed and locked. 

"Damn, how the hell am I supposed to get outta here?" 

He glanced at the floor, and his train of thought was derailed when he noticed something bright and shiny sitting on the floor. He bent down and picked it up the glowing object, finding a gold ring, polished to a high gloss, and sized small enough to fit around the finger of a woman. 

"Looks like you dropped some of your jewelry here, Baby Bird," said Estevez, tossing the ring up and catching it like a coin. "Guess I'll just hang on to this, as a souvenir." 

With a sudden spout of energy, Edward sprung from her body-in-the-river position on the floor into that of a bull ready to charge. She glared vengefully at her foe's back, gritted her teeth, and screamed at the top of her lungs: 

_ "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT RING!"_

When Estevez turned, Edward side-swiped him as she sprinted in his direction. She took hold of his arm, whipped him around, and threw him against the wall. He bounced off it and stumbled forward. Edward dashed again, this time heading straight for him. She lunged at his midsection and tackled him around the waist, slamming him down against the floor! 

The ring had been launched into the air when Ed attacked Estevez. After knocking him senseless, she got up and caught it, then slipped it onto her right hand. She reached down and grabbed Estevez by the collar, pulled him to his feet, reeled back her right arm, then bludgeoned his face with her fist, using the ring to pack an extra wallop. Estevez's head snapped to the side while a stream of blood sailed from his mouth. 

Ed snatched Erik's arm and tried to whip him in the other direction, but Estevez reversed the maneuver, pulled Edward toward him, picked her up by the legs, and slapped her down upon the floor like a flyswatter. 

"You just don't get it, do you!?" he barked. "I...can't...be...beaten! How many more concussions is it gonna take for you to figure it out!?" 

As Edward rolled onto her stomach, Estevez grabbed another handful of her air and pulled her up so she rested on her knees, seemingly unable to defend herself. 

"Faye Valentine taught you everything she knew, huh?" he asked. "Well she tried all of it on me first! All her best moves couldn't take me down, kid. What chance did you ever think _you_ had?" 

Ed weakly reached up her left arm and ran her hand over the one gripping her hair. 

"Faye Valentine didn't just teach me her best moves..." she rasped. "...She taught all her best tricks!" 

She latched onto Estevez's arm, turned toward him, and swung her right arm up between his legs. 

Estevez's face exploded with pain and he doubled over, cupping his hands over his groin. Ed bent over and put all her weight on her hands, then slashed her legs up and over her head, mule-kicking Erik in the face. He sailed off his feet, and Edward cartwheeled back onto her feet. 

When Erik regained his footing, he immediately started throwing wild, indiscriminate punches at her. She dodged each attack, then she finally retaliated with a backhand. She threw three more strikes, each time landing a fist upon his head. 

She kicked out a foot and allowed Estevez to grab it. She jumped off her other leg and kicked it at him, but Estevez ducked under it and kept his hold on her foot. Edward landed on her back, and she kicked up her foot again, slicing her toe across his nose. 

Estevez stumbled back, moving toward the control panel and the observation window, right where the glass was cracked. He went at Edward and swung some kicks in her direction, starting with a swift roundhouse and two sweeping motions. Ed ducked the roundhouse and jumped over the sweeps. Estevez threw one last spinning kick at her, and she simply arched her back and let his leg fly right over her. She stood up straight again and snapped her head forward, butting him right in the nose. Erik stumbled again, his grogginess increasing. Ed run at him and jumped, using him for a step ladder as she climbed up and over him. She hopped off his shoulders and landed behind him, kicking him in the back on her way down. Estevez took a step forward to keep his balance, then whirled around and kicked at her again. Edward jumped backwards and avoided the attack, putting additional distance between them with a series of lightning-quick back handsprings, ending with a perfect backflip that launched her off the floor and settled her on the control panel, right in front of the fractured glass. She perched there and smiled, her arms spread in bird-of-prey fashion. 

Erik's face was a crimson mask from all the blood he'd lost. His left eye was completely shut, and he could only squint out of the right eye. He had to have been at least a little delirious. But if he was, he certainly didn't care. 

With one last enraged scream, he used whatever strength he had left to fuel one final charge. He ran at the control panel, intent on destroying Edward with whatever he managed to do in the next few seconds. Intent on destroying himself along with her if need be. 

Need be or not, she was ready for him. 

He lunged and flew at her. At the same time, she rolled backwards and put her feet against his chest. She pushed out with her legs and shoved at Estevez's body, sending him flying over her and through the window. 

Still screaming, Estevez soared out of the control room, a deluge of glass slivers following him down. He landed spine-first against the rail of one catwalk, the impact distinguished with a sick crack of broken vertebrae. His descent continued as he skimmed off the rail and plopped on the floor of a catwalk one floor below. 

Edward got up and looked out the hole in the window and observed the aftermath. The sight of the dented rail where Estevez's had been broken was enough to satisfy her, and she hadn't even seen his body yet. 

She jumped out the window and landed on the first catwalk, walking along it until she could see Estevez on the walk below. She jumped over the rail and came down right next to the body. 

Erik Estevez was clearly unconscious. If he wasn't, he'd have been writhing in agony, for his torso, twisted and misshapen, looked like it had been put through a laundry wringer. 

Edward boastfully strolled around the body several times, her visage surprisingly without emotion. She stopped and stood over him, then sat down upon him, placing her knees on either side of his head. She stared at his bloodied face, tilting her vision a few times. He began to stir, only able to wobble his head a little. 

"Y'know..." said Edward, "...you were right about thing. Sometime...maybe years from now, for all I know...I'm gonna look back on what happened today, and I'm gonna wonder, 'Was it really that easy to kill him?' That's something that'll haunt me for the rest of my days, Estevez, so you at least get the benefit of that. But as far as the answer to that question goes...Was it really that easy to kill you?...I suppose I'll just sort of smile and say..." 

She closed her knees against his head and jerked it to the side, breaking his neck. 

"...You're damn right it was!" she finished. 

She rose and walked away, not once looking back. 

********

Later... 

The ISSP were swarming the premises. Police cruisers, news vans, and ambulances were carelessly parked outside, creating a headache-inducing legion of flashing and blinking siren lights. The hospital crews were loading Estevez's victims into the ambulances, for it seemed a couple of them were not 100% dead. 

In the mess of cops, doctors, and reporters, a tired Edward sat on the ground, her back against the door of police cruiser. She felt good and ready to just fall asleep again, but the cops still needed her account of the night's events, the doctors wouldn't let her leave until she received medical attention, and she was repeatedly dogged by exclusive-craving journalists. 

Without anything else to do, she blankly stared at the ground until she saw a pair of legs walking in her direction and stop a few meters in front of her. Seeing the metal armor on the large man's boots, Ed looked up and saw Jet Black. 

She smiled at him, then rose and went over to him, a noticeable limp on her step. She stood before him, not saying a word. Jet reached up a hand an examined her face, wincing with disapproval at the bruises and cuts, and Ed took his wordless scolding with a smile, quite aware that she didn't have the energy to argue with him. When he was done with her head, he took her right hand and examined the ring on her finger. 

"Looks good on ya," he said. 

She chuckled and sighed. 

"The cops said you can give your testimony tomorrow if you want," he continued. 

"Jet, my friend, that is music to my ears," she replied. 

They started on their departure. Behind them, Edward could hear the sounds of struggling as several officers were attempting to restrain Crey Estevez while loading him into the back of a cop car. But Crey wasn't going without a fight, it seemed. He scratched and clawed as much as he could despite the handcuffs he wore, but they still stashed him inside the open backseat door. When he saw Edward leaving, Crey's struggling increased, and he almost managed to escape, but the officers just swarmed him even more. 

"Ed!" he called out. "Ed, come on, help me out here! Tell them I didn't do anything! For God's sake, tell them!" 

She ignored him. 

"Ed, the night on Io!" he yelled, as the door of the cruiser was closed in front of him. "That night on Io, Ed, remember that night on Io!?" 

Edward couldn't oppose that. She stopped and groaned to herself. 

"Hold on a second!" she ordered. 

The police hesitantly backed away from Crey, who calmed down once he saw his appeals to Ed paying off. Edward went over to the police cruiser's back seat door and leaned in front of the open window, staring Crey right in the eyes. 

"What about that night on Io?" she asked. 

"I was just sayin'..." he answered, unsure of what exactly to say, "...it sure was one hell of a night, wasn't it?" 

From the tone of his voice, she could tell he wasn't just being an ass. Ed laughed under her breath. 

"Yeah...yeah, it was," she said. "I thought you said you didn't know where Erik was going." 

"I'm sorry...I lied to you again," Crey confessed. 

"Well, this time you had a good reason," Ed pardoned him. "I'm sorry about your guitar." 

"Ah, forget about it," he said with a simper. "I got it for ten woolongs at a rummage sale." 

In the brief silence that followed, it appeared there truly was no bad blood between them anymore, much to their mutual amazement. 

"Ed..." Crey whispered, "...back on Io...I meant what I said that night...'cause right about now, I think I'm lookin' up at you from the bottom of that six foot hole." 

Edward smiled brightly at him, then she leaned in through the window and brought her face to his, kissing him full on the lips. She ran her fingers down his face, then backed away, her eyes still on his enamored expression. 

The car drove away. Ed kept watching him until long after his face disappeared. 

She turned to Jet, and she saw him talking with the police captain. It was a black-haired, mustached man she'd seen Jet speaking to on many on occasion in the past. He must have recieved a few promotions in the last seven years, since he certainly wasn't a captain back then. 

"Hey, cap," she addressed him. "The guy you just hauled away...He wasn't working with Estevez, he was trying to stop him. I'll testify to that in court if I have to." 

"All right," the captain replied. "I'm just gonna need your number where I can reach you." 

"Call Jet," said Ed. "He'll know where to find me." 

Another officer called to the captain, who left to attend to other business. 

All that remained was Jet and Edward. Ed stared out into empty space for a minute, then she looked at Jet. She exhaled deeply, wiped a hand through her sopping scalp, and massaged a sore spot on the back of her neck. 

"Fuck me, Jet, I think I'm in love with the reject." 

Jet smiled at her, patted her on the back, and escorted her from the monotonous surroundings. 

"It happens," he said.   
  
  
  
  


**_MAYBE SIX FEET AIN'T SO FAR DOWN..._**


	12. Time For Me To Fly

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**Session 12:**  
**_Time For Me To Fly_**  


The _Bebop_ floated peacefully in the Mars harbor, while Jet Black quite violently poked about with its innards. Every once in a while an explosive curse would cruise through the air, followed close behind by a damaged piece of machinery. Eventually Jet emerged from inside his metal foxhole, covered from head to toe in grease smudges, and holding a wrench in one hand and a piyoko in the other. 

"Dammit, these things get everywhere!" he grumbled, vindictively eyeballing the small pink blob. 

His foul mood was cut short when the magnificent WHOOSH! of a hovercraft engine roared in. He heard the cruiser settle on the _Bebop_'s lading platform, then a door open and close. 

Jet rubbed the muck off his face as he crossed from one end of the ship to the other. Waiting for him on the runway was the refurbished RedTail, with Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV casually leaning against it, hands in her pockets, goggles over her eyes, and an easy-going smile on her face. Most striking was the new addition to her costume, a gold necklace looped through Faye Valentine's ring, which dangled just below Ed's collarbone. 

"Hey," said, removing the goggles. 

"Hey yourself, stranger," Jet replied as he wiped his hands with a rag. "So how'd the trial go?" 

"Better than I expected," Ed answered. "They found out Crey was Double-E's brother, but thanks to my testimony, they don't suspect him of anything. In return, he testified on my behalf that Estevez fell out the window, and he broke his neck when he hit that first catwalk. So I'm off the hook for killing him." 

"It's not like it was murder or anything," claimed Jet. "What's Crey's sentence?" 

"Nothing for what happened on TJ," she said, "but they're still giving him jail time for document fraud and for breaking out of the lockup in Tharsis. He's got six months in Callisto Penn. Three with good behavior." 

Jet smirked as he thought of his next query. "You gonna meet him on the outside?" 

Ed chortled at herself and ran a hand through her hair. "Y'know, I think I just might do that." 

"What'cha gonna do in the meantime?" 

"Same as usual," she said. "Ride the stars and search for my fortune." 

She was dispensed the you-must-be-joking look from Jet. 

"Well, it sounded good on paper," she defended herself. "What about you, cowboy?" 

"Same as usual," he returned. "Bust my ass for this piece of shit boat of mine." 

"That reminds me," said Ed. "I've got a little present for you...Hold on a sec." 

She opened up RedTail's hatch, climbed up, and fished through the compartment. In her tangled search, her lower half stuck out the open doorway, with her buxom bottom pointing straight at Jet. Jet had to overpower himself to turn away, but as he did, he caught something out of the corner of his eye that forced him to look again. On Edward's left hip, just below her waistline, there was a tattoo he hadn't seen before; he couldn't quite make it out from his distance and with her constantly moving around, but it looked like a heart shape that had been ripped in half. 

"You can stop staring at my fanny, Jet," she warned. 

Jet slapped himself and covered his eyes. "Sorry." 

Edward found the object of her priority, and she pulled herself from RedTail's cockpit with a chunky engine part on her arms. 

"It's an alternator," she explained. "Y'know, that one part that was always giving you trouble? But this one's a K-9 model. It's a brand-new piece, but I'm pretty sure it's compatible with _Bebop_ 's generator. It's got a two-year warranty on it, so if it breaks, you can just call the manufacturer and they'll fetch you a new one. Plus, you'll never have to worry about a stray piyoko ever again." 

Jet blinked with surprise as Ed handed the alternator over to him. 

"Thanks..." he said sanguinely. "Expensive stuff, Ed. You didn't have to go to the trouble." 

"Fatty gave me back that five hundred thousand I overpaid him when I wrecked his club," she replied with a smile. "I'd just go and blow it on something stupid like food anyway." 

"Speaking of food, I was just about to go get me some lunch," said Jet. "Wanna tag along? My treat." 

"Thanks, but I've got some stuff I need to take care of," Ed politely objected. "Maybe some other time." 

On that note, she climbed back up into RedTail. Jet set the alternator on the ground, and he remembered something else he'd asked of her once, to which she also suggested "some other time". 

"Where's the other half of that heart?" he suddenly asked. 

Ed gawked at him surprisedly for a second, then glanced down at her left hip. Her pants and slipped low enough that her hidden tattoo was exposed to the world. She looked up at Jet with a glance expressing apology, then smiled and shook her head, laughably condemning herself for trying to keep secrets from him. 

"Let me help you install that part..." she said, "...and I'll show you." 

********

Earth. 

Edward led Jet to a seaside public park. The coastal edge of the park was bordered off by an iron rail, from which one was treated to a delightful vista of the Pacific Ocean and a few distant Indonesian islands. Directly ahead, however, was just as admirable a landmark; atop a natural land formation jutting out of the water, a man-made structure was placed for eternal exhibition. It was a large white statue, carved out of stone, of a mythological creature composed of the body of a fish and the head of a lion, mouth open in perpetual roar. 

Ed leaned against the rail studying the Merlion monument, while Jet stood a few meters back, wondering what relevance any of this had in relation to his previous inquiry. 

"This is nice and all..." he said, "...but what's this got to with the heart?" 

Edward looked down at the dusty ground beneath her, a dirt patch that lay just beyond the rich green grass. She moved her left foot and started kicking at the dirt, sweeping it away from something. Eventually something was uncovered, planted in the soil. Edward continued observing it without a word escaping her lips. Jet walked over and took a gander. 

Buried just below the rail was a single marble slab, with several engravings on the face of it pointing skyward. At the top was a shape similar to the one tattooed on Ed's hip, but it was obviously the remaining half of the same torn heart. Beneath that, a pair of dates were listed: 1994-2077. 

"So this is the place," he gathered. 

"It's where she'd have wanted to be," said Ed. "This place...it was the last home she could remember having before the Gate Accident. The least she deserved was to be taken back to somewhere familiar." 

"Couldn't have thought of a better place myself," said Jet. 

Ed knelt down next to the headstone and caressed her hand along the face of the inscriptions, tracing her finger around the broken heart motif. 

"We finally did it, sis," she whispered. "I got the bastard. I got him just for you." 

A calm, commodious silence trailed her sentiment. Ed remained kneeling, and together with Jet she stared at the slab. Unbeknownst to Jet however, she saw more than just stone and earth; it was almost like she could see through the ground and see Faye Valentine entombed underneath, sleeping peacefully in the wake of the justice Edward had served. 

She turned to Jet and smiled. "She had a lot of love for you, Jet. She'd never admit it to me, but I knew. And you ought to know too." 

Slowly, Jet returned the smile. "Thanks, kid." 

Ed swept one last layer of dust off the face of the grave marker and rose to her feet. She stretched her arms and back and sighed happily. 

"I oughta get goin'," she said. 

With an abrupt grin, Edward sprung from her feet and jumped up onto Jet's right side, pulling herself toward him and kissing him on the cheek. 

"Until next time, Black Dog," she said. 

"Till next time..." he replied. He grinned back at her. "...Francoise." 

She playfully punched him in the gut and pointed a "naughty-naughty" finger at him. 

"Only my father calls me that," she jestingly nagged. 

She released Jet and put herself back on her feet, then began walking toward RedTail, parked in the middle of the green, where some kids were swinging from the gun turrets until a parental figure, dressed in nun habit, chased them off. 

"So what's your plan now?" he asked. 

"Pack my bags, mount my horse, ride on into the next town," she answered. "There's a bounty head on Ganymede I'm gonna see about getting my hands on...but first...there's another old friend of mine in a cemetery on Mars I think I oughta go visit." 

Jet nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "Yeah, I think I'm about due for one myself." 

Edward paused momentarily. 

"Jet...do you think Spike would have liked what I've become?" she asked. 

"I think Spike would be proud of what you've become," said Jet. "Just like I am." 

Very much liking the sound of the answer, she smirked buoyantly and kept on walking. About halfway on her journey, she halted yet again and froze for a minute, then turned back to Jet. 

"Do me a favor," she requested. "Stick around. I like _Bebop_, but I don't wanna inherit her from you too." 

"Are you kiddin' me!?" Jet replied in disbelief. "If I go down, I'm takin' the scrimpy ol' bird down with me!" Another pause came between them, then he continued in his usual austere tone. "You know...there'll always be a place for you there." 

"I know," said Ed, winking. 

She jogged the rest of the way to RedTail, jumped inside, and took off. 

Jet watched her departure until she became nothing but a distant black dot in the middle of the sky. He looked down at the grave of Faye Valentine, and he fell to his knees before it. 

"Hello, Faye," he said. "It's been a while."   
  
  
  
  


**_I KNOW IT HURTS TO SAY GOODBYE._**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_AUTHOR'S NOTES:_

Okay, so before we move on to the epilogue, let me just take a few moments to give proper credit where its due. 

Thanks go of course to Immani Coppola for inspiring the name of the story, followed right behind by Queen, Metallica, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Queen...again, Aerosmith, Billy Joel, Jimmy Buffett, Chad Kroeger & Josey Scott, Creed, and REO Speedwagon. Narrative musical credit goes to: Elvis Presley, The Drifters (for writing "Up on the Roof"), The Nylons (for having what it is my opinion the best version of "Up on the Roof"), Elton John, Eric Clapton, Kid Rock, Green Day, Queen...yet again (I love 'em, what can I say!?), Three Doors Down, and Billy Joel for a second time. And just to cover my butt, thanks also go to the makers of all the films, books, and whatever else I referenced/ripped off throughout the story. 

Finally, special thanks to go everyone who joined me on this interesting fanfiction journey, including my peeps (did I just say that?) on FanFiction.net, and over at Jazz Messengers and the Bebop Board, as well as Bebop268170 for his classy treatment of my work in spite of my cornball antics.

...Oh yeah, and to Agent Orange for inspiring this "special thanks" section...that is, my cheesy and overblown version of it. He does this better than I do anyway. Rock on, AO. :) 


	13. Epilogue

**LEGEND OF A COWGIRL**

**_Epilogue_**  


Mars, somewhere in the universe, 2078... 

It had taken Edward a little while to find the right grave, especially since Jet claimed he couldn't remember where it was, but once she did find it, there was no mistaking it. Nothing fancy or dramatic; just a small, cleanly-carved headstone with the last name of the deceased engraved on it, along with the years of birth and death - a life of only 27 years - and an epitaph reading "WHATEVER HAPPENS, HAPPENS." Yeah, it was his all right. 

Ed paid her last respects and said her goodbyes, and that was the end of it. They'd never been that close compared to the other _Bebop_ crew members, so there was little that could be said anyway. After that, she strolled out the front gates of the cemetery, humming an appropriately upbeat tune. 

She walked along without a destination, neither wanting nor needing one. Half an hour later, she found herself on the edge of a cliff that looked out upon the man-made lake filling the rest of crater that the city itself did not use. Ed leaned over the guard rail and gazed out at the water. The sun was setting far beyond the rust-colored mountains, coloring the sky a splendid spectrum of violet, red, and orange. The sea sparkled under the light like a liquid treasure chest filled with a thousand multicolored jewels. 

"I just don't know, Faye," Edward said out loud. "I never thought it was would be this strange. I got him for you, and there's still that emptiness inside me...and it feels that way because you're not here. I mean, it's not like I thought killing him would bring you back; I know better than that. It's just that...I don't know. I never expected...to be on my own like this. I know I've still got friends out there...people who really care about me, like you did...but it just isn't the same." 

She paused and kept staring at the water like she expected an answer to emerge from it. 

"Listen to me," she said, chuckling. "This is exactly the kind of thing you warned me about. Your fourth rule, remember? You taught me never to gamble...not just with my money, but with my feelings. I guess that rule is a little harder to follow than the others, isn't it?" 

A group of bicycle riders rolled past her, ringing their bells in a chiming chorus, and Edward stopped again until they were gone, just so she could hear herself think. 

"But you don't need to worry. I'll be okay. And don't worry about Jet either. I'll take good care him, I promise." 

One more thing on her mind remained, and she mentally collected nothing less than the right selection of words before she dictated it. 

"You left behind one hell of a legacy, Faye-Faye," she said. "Wherever you are, I love you...and I miss you." 

She stood up from the rail and started walking again, sliding her hands into her pockets. She halted when she felt something inside her right pocket that she hadn't noticed before. She took hold of it, pulled out her hand, and looked the object over. 

A single bullet, shell and all. There was nothing special about it...just a spare bullet that happened to be in her pocket. 

Now she remembered. Edward put that bullet there a year ago, because she swore she was going to save it for Double-E. It must have slipped into a hole in the lining, because she completely forgot about it. It was of course far too late to use it on Double-E...so there was only one thing she could think of to do with it now. 

She turned toward the lake, made a complete circle, and snapped her arm in a hard upward arch, sending the bullet high into the air. 

As she watched it's escalation, Ed looked at the water again. Off in the distance, she saw a specter of a raven-haired woman, dressed in yellow, walking away from her. The ghostly image stalled and turned to Edward, and it smiled and waved at her as it faded away. 

Edward waved back at the apparition, even after it disappeared. 

She looked up at the sky, and she saw the bullet just beginning to make its descent. She extended her right arm and curled closed all her fingers except her index finger and thumb, making an imaginary gun with her hand. The bullet continued falling, and Edward closed one eye and took aim. When the plunging bullet came into perfect alignment with the angle at which she pointed her finger, she "fired" the nonexistent weapon. 

"Bang."   
  
  
  
  


**_SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...  
_**


End file.
